


Bury My Soul on Parliament Hill

by SaintHeretical



Series: Reylo Eh! [3]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Blackmail, Canadian Politics, Dueling Members of Parliament, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Gratuitous Mentions of Canadian Food, Moist?, Ottawa - Freeform, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in Most Holes, The Bay, The Green Party, Tim Hortons, butt stuff, mentions of colonialism, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-12-21 11:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintHeretical/pseuds/SaintHeretical
Summary: Bored to death running Luke Skywalker's re-election campaign, Rey makes a decision that catapults her headfirst into scheming, intrigue, blackmail, and a whole lot of cruller TimBits.Canadians are known for their politeness, but how does that translate to the House of Commons, where there's more screaming and name-calling than an inner city middle school?a (Canadian) political AU because IT'S ABOUT TIME





	1. the enemy of my enemy is my friend

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Pythia for noting all of the places that need explanation for non-Canadians.  
If you have any additional questions, feel free to ask them in the comments!

There’s a crust of All Dressed dust on her fingers, tangy and slightly smoky-sweet against her tongue as she licks off each tip with slow deliberate strokes. 

“That’s disgusting.”

Rey frowns across the tiny office at her boss, the former Right Honourable Luke Skywalker, P.C., M.P., now just known as Luke, who wrinkles his nose right back at her. “You heard me,” he grumbles. 

“I would wipe my fingers, but _somebody_ refuses to have disposable paper products in the office,” she snips back. “Even though we’re fully capable of buying recycled paper towels and composting the dirty ones.”

“They still use an inordinate amount of resources to produce,” he counters. “Plus the plastic packaging–”

“Not always! Often they have a paper wrapper.”

“Ha! Because that balances out the gallons of water used to hydrate the pulp, as well as the energy required to grind down the raw material. If you only used handkerchiefs, you wouldn’t have this issue.”

She sticks out her tongue. Handkerchiefs are _disgusting._ “I don’t have an issue. You’re the one with the issue. I’m perfectly fine with cleaning my fingers the old fashioned way.”

“You mean you're perfectly fine with spreading pestilence around this office.” He crosses his arms and slumps back into his ragged old office chair. “It’s a wonder I haven’t died of dysentery.”

Rey shoves her hand back into her chip bag with relish, then turns to face the small square TV resting on a wall shelf in front of her. It’s grainy and occasionally blurry lines run up the screen, but Luke’s not willing to replace it as long as it still mostly functions. As always, they’re tuned onto CBC, where she can just make out the frail, wrinkled visage of Prime Minister Snoke, who is chatting animatedly with another wizened old man. 

_“As we reported last Friday, Prime Minister Snoke met with the Governor General this morning to dissolve Parliament and drop the writ, signalling the beginning of our country’s 45th Federal Election_. _In less than five weeks, Canadians will go to the polls to determine the leadership of our country._

_Notable candidates seeking re-election include former Prime Minister Luke Skywalker who’s hoping to hold on to his constituency of Saanich-Gulf Islands. The former Liberal leader famously crossed the aisle eight years ago over a trade dispute with his sister Leia Organa, who is currently representing the riding of Toronto-Danforth for the Liberals. Organa is also running for re-election this year. She’s well liked on the Hill and at home, and will probably keep her seat with a wide margin. _

_As for battleground ridings, the Edmonton-Centre seat should be one to watch as newcomer Finn Ig–”_

“Turn that garbage off.”

Frowning, Rey reaches for the remote and dutifully shuts off the TV. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just the same old nonsense and speculation.” Luke rolls his eyes. “Pundits who are stuck up their own asses, convinced that they have some modicum of influence over what happens. Pathetic.”

“I don’t think it’s pathetic. A lot of election reporting helps to educate people.”

Luke gives her A Look and Rey shrinks back into her seat. “Really? Rehashing my little tiff with Leia seems really educational and a great use of airtime, especially since I’m pretty sure it’s in every political textbook published after 2018.”

He’s like this a lot. Grumpy and cantankerous one moment, grumpy and venomous the next. Even she knows it’s not the greatest of working conditions, but it’s not like she’s got much of a choice. He’s the only Green party candidate with a snowball’s hope in hell of making it to the House, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t stick it out for the experience. It’s not like she could even work for another candidate; environmental preservation is such an important issue for her, so much more than even immigration or the economy, and it’s not like any of the fringe parties have the same fleshed out, respected platform that the Greens do. 

With a sigh, she pulls open her battered backpack and pulls open her campaign planning notebook. Now that the Governor General has dissolved Parliament, Luke will no longer be required to attend sessions at the House of Commons, which leaves his time open to campaign. Especially now that the election has been announced, they’ll need to dedicate all of their energy to going door-to-door, handing out signage, and publicizing Luke and the party platform.

She chews on her pencil, and circles a couple of dates. “Speaking of airtime, I’ve booked you a spot with the UVic on campus radio station CFUV. They’re very excited to have you.”

“Not happening.”

Rey takes in a deep, calming breath, resisting the urge to throw her 100% post consumer recycled, carbon neutral notebook at his head. “What’s the issue?”

“I’m not wasting my time talking with a bunch of over privileged, white, trust fund kids.”

“You mean your constituents?” 

He laughs, his chest and throat rasping with the force of it. “You have a point. But I’m still not going.”

“Okay then, I’ll cancel I guess.” She makes a note, all while suppressing the white hot rage that’s starting to boil in her belly. “What about the Reddit AMA and the live tweeting? Did you see those in your calendar?”

“Cancel those too.”

_Jesus. _”Reddit too young and white for you as well?”

“Come on Rey, you know I don’t do those internet things. I prefer–” He waves his arms around, “–face to face conversation. I’m a face to face kinda guy!”

“You’re something, that’s for sure,” she mutters. “What about the merch designs for supporters?”

She tosses over a folder, which he opens and immediately recoils. “No, not at all.”

“What’s wrong with those?”

“‘The Environment is bae’? ‘Planet Earth has all my uwus’?” He throws them back. “What the hell is this, some kind of cult greeting?”

“It’s what people like! It’s memes!”

“I told you, I don’t want memes.”

“No, you want town halls,” Rey groans. “You want to talk to people in independent coffee shops that only serve ethically sourced coffee beans that have been roasted in a carbon neutral roaster and have been crushed by the feet of liberated virgin garment factory workers from Bangladesh.”

He glares at her, but his piercing blue eyes hold no actual malice. No, he would actually have to _care_ to show malice, and at this point all Luke Skywalker does in his constituency office is smoke weed and marinate in his own apathy. Rey stabs her pen into her notebook, then tosses both aside and reaches for her bag of chips, momentarily content to drown her frustration in All Dressed and the humming feedback of their busted TV.

* * *

“Hi, I’m here for an order? Under Skywalker?”

The red uniformed Staples employee stares back and her, then shrugs. “I think it’s in the back. Please wait here.”

Rey sighs, leaning against the counter, her eyes fixating on the way the second hand jiggles on the wall clock in front of her. She’s not looking forward to dragging back boxes full of hundreds of yard signs, especially when she’s sure that most of them won’t even be used. Groaning, she rubs at her eyes and, for seemingly the millionth time that day, curses that her political convictions wouldn’t allow her to work for someone with a more dynamic, cutthroat campaign. 

“Hard day?”

She shoves herself upright, and spins around. The only other person in the store is a young Asian woman perusing an endcap display of duct tape. She meets Rey’s stare, and grins. “You seem wiped.”

“I am,” Rey admits. “Mentally exhausted, mostly.”

“You working a campaign?”

“Yup.”

“Oh boy. Same.” The woman smiles. “It’s stressful, but what’re you going to do? Politics gotta politick.”

Rey stares at her effortlessly cool braided size shave and inwardly groans. Over the past week, the only human she’s spent any time with has been Luke, and she’s forgotten that there’s a whole population out there with which conversation is less painful than pulling teeth. “It’s my first campaign,” she admits. “My boss is a veteran, but I feel like he’s been in the game so long that he doesn’t really care anymore?”

The other woman’s brow furrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah, It’s...frustrating.” 

“Why are you working for him then?”

Rey laughs bitterly. She grabs a roll of holographic tape and fiddles with it. “Because I believe in the campaign. I believe that this country has been squandering its resources for too long, and we’re doing irreparable damage to our planet.” She sighs. “I _also_ believe that antagonizing constituents and getting high all day aren’t the best ways to garner support for a platform, but what do I know?” 

“Oh.” The other woman nods and gives her a sympathetic smile. “You’re working the Skywalker campaign.”

Groaning, Rey tosses the tape back onto the display. “Yeah. Yeah I am, and it’s super frustrating because he’s so unwilling to do even the bare minimum of campaigning and it’s driving me insane. I’ve set up a Twitter and even organized an AMA on Reddit, but he refuses to engage with anything online because he ‘prefers to communicate exclusively in the medium of face to face conversation.’ How he _ever_ became PM is a complete mystery to me.”

“The Liberals were on a roll that year. Plus a lot of it had to do with Leia.” 

“He’s completely useless without her,” Rey spits, then instantly regrets it. Her stomach clenches, and she takes a step back, her hand flying to her mouth. “I mean– God, please don’t tell anyone I said that. You’re not a journalist are you?”

The other woman’s eyes go wide. With a soft chuckle, she places a reassuring hand on Rey’s arm. “No, don’t worry I won’t say a thing. I’m...I’m actually running in the election as well. Rose Tico, the NDP candidate for Cowichan-Malahat-Langford.”

“Oh.” It makes sense; Rose seems young and cool enough to be a part of the New Democratic Party, which is almost as left-wing as the Greens. Rey shakes her hand as her heartbeat slows to a more reasonable resting pace. “I’m Rey Johnson. Professional hothead and pain in Luke Skywalker’s ass.”

“Nice to meet you Rey.” Rose giggles. “Please, stop me if I’m being presumptuous but...why aren’t you running for the Green Party? You seem to have a good grip on the voter base, and I think your fluency with online communication could gain you a lot of support in a short amount of time.”

“What? No!” Rey chokes back an inappropriately rude guffaw of disbelief. “No. I am not qualified to be an MP.”

“Why not? If you’re 18 and a citizen, then technically you’re qualified.” Rose crosses her arms and cocks her hip. “Most of the NDP MPs in 2011 were considered unqualified.”

“Yeah, and that turned out well, didn’t it?” Rose takes in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’ve just thought about it a lot, about why I’ve tied myself to this campaign and I just– I don’t know. I guess I’m caught up in the glory days. The romance of working my way up the ladder instead of thrusting myself into the spotlight.”

“I’ve got a couple’a boxes here for Skywalker?” The man behind the counter squints in her direction and smiles with recognition. “For you, eh? You’re working on his campaign?”

Rey nods, grimacing. “Yup.”

“Sucks for you. He’s a fucking windbag.” He motions to the boxes on the counter. “You need help loading these?”

“I can help,” Rose volunteers. “I was just on my way out anyways.”

“Oh no, you don’t–” Rey starts, but Rose has already hefted one of the boxes in her deceptively strong arms and is making quick work of stacking the second one on top. Scrambling, Rey grabs the final box then darts across the store to open the door for Rose, who is handling her two boxes with ease. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Rey pants as she wrestles the boxes into her ancient Honda Civic. “I would have been fine.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that. I just figured I might as well.” Rose shoves her hands into her pockets and smiles. “Promise me you’ll think about it?”

“I have thought about it, but I’m pretty sure Luke will kill me.”

“Lucky for you, he doesn’t have to sign off on it.” Rose winks. She pulls out her phone and offers it to Rey. “I can text you all sorts of pointers if you want, about running your own campaign and who to talk to for free advertising.”

Rey frowns, but adds her number nonetheless. “Why are you so set on me?” she mumbles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume this was some sort of scheme.”

“It is a scheme. We need to keep Snoke and his dusty old Conservatives from winning, and it’s candidates like you that are going to do it.” Rose pockets her phone. “Have a good night. And good luck.”

Rey sits in the parking lot for a good ten minutes after Rose leaves, pondering her options. She could stay with Luke. He’s almost guaranteed to keep his seat, and then she could run his constituency office for him while he’s off in Ottawa. It would be great experience, and she would make a lot of powerful connections, potentially. 

Or. Or she could send off her paperwork with days to spare. She could plaster her face around the island, go on the radio, Reddit, Twitter, Facebook, wherever she could to get her name out there. She could manage her own campaign, run the polls, do interviews, and for what? A slim to none chance that she might win a seat and head off to the capital herself?

With a huff, she shoves her key into the ignition and drives back to Luke’s office, her resignation letter already drafted in her head.

* * *

She wins.

She doesn’t just win; she absolutely _destroys _the competition. The incumbent NDP MP had no idea what hit him during the local debate when she waltzed in, sipping bubble tea through a metal straw and wearing her tie-dyed “the environment is babie” t-shirt, cropped high enough to expose just a sliver of tanned skin above her mustard yellow jeans. She felt like she never stopped talking for the entire campaign, consistently re-emphasizing the platform of Indigenous land rights, carbon tax, green economy, and the importance of maintaining a responsible and just society. 

Not that it really matters, but her campaign merch sales went through the roof when Seth Rogen wore one of her shirts on Jimmy Kimmel while promoting the live action Lion King sequel, and it was enough to completely fund her campaign, plus the free promotion didn’t hurt either.

When she sees the graphic on CBC, the one with the bar graph indicating a long green line topped with her smiling face, she cries. When they call her riding for the Greens, she cries. There’s a lot of tears that night, drowned in bags of chips and cheap beer in Rose and her sister Paige’s dingy basement suite on Pandora Street. Rose wins her riding too, eliciting screams of victory that are only silenced by some heavy thumps from the upstairs neighbours.

In an insane twist of fate, Luke loses to the Conservative candidate. Rey feels a minor twinge of guilt that’s quickly drowned in another round of cheap beer and Paige’s emergency weed stash. She’s halfway through explaining how the Liberal and Conservative environmental policies are really repackaged versions of the same old capitalist nonsense when Peter Mansbridge announces that the election has been called and her stomach drops.

“_We are still waiting until tomorrow for the final counts but, with the majority of polling stations reporting, CBC is calling a minority government for Andrew Snoke and the Conservatives.”_

Paige groans, and Rose lets out a half hearted “boo” from where she’s slumped on the couch, but Rey’s eyes are still glued on the screen, where Mansbridge is standing in front of a huge muticoloured graphic of the House of Commons’ seating chart. Half of the squares are blue, the colour of the Conservatives. 

_“As you can see here, the Conservatives have managed to hold on to the house with 169 seats, exactly fifty percent. It’s a very healthy minority, with only one additional vote needed to guarantee the pass of legislation. Now, here’s where it gets interesting.”_

He walks across the projected graphicto the other squares, which are a mix of red for the Liberals and orange for the New Democrats. 

_“As anticipated, Leia Organa’s Liberal party made out with 135 seats. It’s a solid showing for them, especially against Poe Dameron’s New Democratic Party, who landed only 33 after running a solid campaign and a candidate in every riding. Now, there were rumours of an informal coalition between these two left leaning parties before the election started, which makes this final seat a very exciting addition to the House.”_

The graphic zooms in to the very top right corner, where a single lone green square sits, surrounded by orange. Rey gulps. 

_“This is the lone Green Party seat, held by newcomer Rey Johnson, who is representing the riding of Esquimalt-Saanich-Sooke. There’s a fascinating story behind the victory: Johnson is the former aide to Luke Skywalker, and ended up quitting his campaign during the election to run in the riding next to his and, if you haven’t noticed, tonight Skywalker lost his seat to Conservative Ron Thanisson. With an almost guaranteed coalition between the Liberals and the NDP, you’d better believe the Conservatives will be courting Johnson for that last crucial vote.”_

“Oh my god.” 

She’s not sure who turns off the TV, or how she ends up on the couch wrapped in a crocheted blanket. All Rey can see, all she can hear, is Peter Mansbridge’s coy grin and his words throbbing in her head, over and over and over.

_Courting Johnson._

_Courting Johnson._

“What does that even _mean_?” she hisses into the acrylic yarn. It smells like Rose and weed and Paige’s cat, and it makes her feel a bit more calm. “Fuck. I am too high for this.”

“Or you’re not high enough,” Paige offers her the roach, but she shakes her head.

“No, no, I need to figure this out. Rose? Rose?”

“I’m putting on the kettle,” Rose calls out from their little galley kitchen. “Also your phone is going crazy, FYI.”

Rey swallows the lump gathering her throat. Rose comes back into the living room holding a mug of steaming green tea in one hand, and Rey’s phone the other. “It was vibrating non-stop the entire time I was in there. I think it’s charged enough now, eighty percent at least.”

“My battery is shit,” Rey mutters, scrolling wildly through her messages. “Barely lasts a day. How am I going to be an MP with a shit phone?”

Rose looks at her like she’s gone insane. “You’ll get a new phone. You know that, right? You get a phone and a car with a driver, and an office with staff.”

“Just for me?” Rey snorts. “No, that’s crazy. I don’t need all of that.”

“You say that now.”

“No, I mean it.” She sits up straighter, frowning as she flicks through notifications from old high school friends, coworkers, mostly vague and congratulatory. “If my platform is based on sustainability, then I need to practice what I preach. No car and driver, minimal staff, and I’ll keep my shit phone thanks. Oh god, Luke just texted me.”

Rose and Paige crowd around her on the couch. She draws the blanket tightly around her shoulders and just stares, heart thumping, at his message, short and ominous.

_Good luck_


	2. Ben (doughnut emoji)

_“–return your tray to an upright position and fasten your seatbelt for landing. Mesdames et Messieurs. Nous commençons maintenant notre descente–”_

Rey groans, and reluctantly tugs her seatbelt back up around her hips. The flight has been excruciating, heightened by the looming fact that she’s going to have to make this trip on the regular. At best, she’s looking at six hours, but apparently the flight back is even _longer_ due to some nonsense about the planet’s curve or rotation or whatever. 

Frankly it’s inexcusable, especially since her entire platform is based on environmental sustainability_._ Jetting from coast to coast every week is the antithesis of everything she stands for, not to mention a six hour flight plus airport security nonsense seriously cuts into time better spent advocating for her constituents. If only the House of Commons had videoconferencing installed.

_That’s not a half-bad idea_. She jots it down on her notebook then stuffs all her things into her bag and prepares for landing.

Ottawa International Airport is smaller than she’s expecting. It’s full of business suited politicians and staffers, and there’s a weird vibe in the air, all nervous and jittery like the first day of school. She retrieves her bag from the carousel and scans the crowd for Rose, who flew in a few days previous and promised to pick her up. It takes her a while; the other woman is fairly short and Rey only spots her because of her vibrant yellow raincoat and slouchy green toque. 

Running over, Rose gives her a quick hug and grabs her bag. “How was the flight?”

“Long.” Rey groans. “I honestly don’t know how I’m going to do it, going back and forth all the time.”

“You don’t have to do it often if you don’t want.” Rose guides her outside, where a sleek black car is waiting for them. The weather is gloomy with a pervasive drizzle, and for a second Rey forgets that she’s not in Victoria anymore. “Poe says that most of the backbenchers only show up for important votes, and it’s not like you’re being whipped or anything.”

“No, I guess not. But I want to do a good job representing my constituents.” Rey settles in the backseat of the car, her backpack perched on her lap. “But at the same time it’s such a waste, you know? Of time, resources–”

“It’s part of the job. Part of the system. But yeah...part of our job is to break the system. All the parts that don’t work anymore, we need to replace them.” Nodding sagely, Rose closes her door and nods at the driver, who takes them down the road, past the Hilton and the expo centre, toward the bustle of downtown Ottawa.

Rose has been invaluable as a resource, answering all of her questions about campaigning, funding paperwork, and even offering her a sublet at her Ottawa residence (under the condition that work doesn’t come back home). It’s almost uncomfortable, how much the other woman has given to Rey, a sentiment she’s tried to express several times over, but is always waved off. 

“And don’t worry about strings,” Rose had insisted. “I’m not helping you out so that you’ll owe me. You need to follow your platform and your conscience, and I would never threaten that.”

The car pulls up to a greyish stone building, which houses the headquarters of the New Democratic Party. Rose invited her to the informal luncheon held at the office, another ‘no strings attached’ act of kindness that makes Rey weirdly nervous. The headquarters is like any other office, except for the copious amount of orange posters and t-shirts all over the space. There’s trays of standard cold cut sandwiches, plus fruit, juice, and small bags of chips. 

Rey snags her favourite All Dressed and heads to a quiet corner, content to people watch for the time being. It’s weird; they’re kind and cheerful and wonderfully diverse, but she can’t help but see them as her competition, even though Rose assures her that there’s no hard feelings. It probably has something to do with her childhood, having to fight tooth and nail for pennies in an underfunded system, resulting in her entering young adulthood with a hair trigger 'berserk button’. 

Not five minutes into the lunch, Rose sidles up next to her along with an older, curly haired man with a glittering smile. “Hi, I’m Poe,” he says, sticking out his hand.

Rey smiles politely and shakes it. “Rey.”

He grins. “I know.”

Then he just _stares_ at her for a minute, as if she holds some sort of key to his political schemes, and she shuffles, uncomfortably, from one foot to the other. “Thanks,” she says, picking at her bag of chips. “For inviting me.”

“Of course, of course.” He gestures to the crowd. “We’re all one happy family here.”

“Sure.” She nibbles another chip. “And I’m the green haired stepchild.”

“No, you’re one of us on everything that matters,” Rose insists. “We’re pro-environment, pro-women, minorities–”

“Eh.” Rey wiggles her hand back and forth. “Your environmental stance is weak at best, but I get what you’re saying. We don’t outright disagree.”

“Exactly. And Rose figured that, since you’re a bit of an orphan here, that we’d adopt you.”

“I’m a bit of an orphan _everywhere_, actually.”

Poe’s face falls. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I–”

“It’s fine.” She waves it off. “I appreciate it. The effort, and the trust needed to allow one of the enemy into your headquarters.”

“Well, it’s important for you to know who you’re dealing with.” Poe starts pointing at random people around the room. “That’s Kay, the rep for Timmons-James Bay, and next to her is C’ai, from Churchill–”

“Poe,” Rose interrupts. “Don’t overwhelm her.”

“Right.” Turning to Rey, he shrugs. “Sorry. I just know how overwhelming it can be for your first month or two on the Hill. All these familiar faces, not exactly sure who everyone is and where they belong. I thought you might like to see who we are, so you can know who to trust.”

Rey’s gut twists, just a bit. “Ah. I see. Thanks for the concern, but I’ve also been studying up a bit on my spare time. I think I have most of Snoke’s old cabinet memorized, plus some of Leia’s.”

“Speaking of which…” Poe gives Rose a sideways glance, and she covertly shifts herself in front of them to block their conversation from others. “So you may have heard in the news that we’ve been talking about a coalition with the Liberals.”

“I’ve heard...rumours.”

“Well, you’ve heard correctly. It’s nothing official, but we are planning on something big for February, if you catch my meaning.”

February is budget season, where Snoke’s Conservativse will present the federal economic plan for the fiscal new year, and Rey’s position in the House will be most crucial. The budget is what’s called a _confidence vote_, meaning that if the vote to approve the budget doesn’t pass, the opposition can move to present a vote of no confidence. If this subsequent vote passes, the Prime Minister is forced to resign and the Governor General can either grant government to a coalition of two parties, or call another election. It’s a risky move, made more so by the fact that coalitions tend to be frowned upon by the public, but by the glint in Poe’s eye, she can tell that he thinks it’s going to work. 

This all relies on one crucial lynchpin: Rey’s vote. Technically, if she voted to approve the budget, there would be nothing Poe or Leia’s parties could do about it. Swallowing heavily, she pushes down the sick feeling in her stomach and manages to choke out, “Good luck with that.”

He frowns. “Are you not on board?”

“Poe.” Rose elbows him in the ribs. “Give her some space; it’s her first day!”

“Right.” He looks at Rey meaningfully. “Think about it, though. Promise?”

* * *

She does think about it.

She thinks about it as she unpacks her suitcase at Rose’s house, arranging her lucky charms and scented candles on the ledge of the glorified broom closet that’s now her bedroom. She thinks about it as she traces her finger along her map of the House, imagining what it’ll feel like to walk the halls for the first time. She thinks about it at night, staring up at the plastered ceiling of her bedroom as she tries to ignore the draft of cold air blowing into her bedsheets.

She’s still thinking about it the next morning while in line at Tim Hortons, the scent of coffee and fresh maple doughnuts swirling around her. Anne Murray is singing ‘Snowbird’ on the radio and the line is almost out the door, but Rey barely notices. She’s so lost in thought that it takes three nudges to her shoulder for her to snap out of it and pay attention to the lineup, which has moved a metre ahead without her noticing. “Oh gosh, sorry.”

“No worries,” rumbles the stranger behind her, in a surprisingly rich voice. “Late night?”

“You could say that.” Scurrying forward, she catches a glimpse over her shoulder at the man and breathes a sigh of relief when his face doesn’t match the lineup of Conservative cabinet ministers engraved in her brain. “It’s my first day here.”

“Ah.” He steps forward as well. “Are you a staffer?”

She grins. “Nope.”

He tilts his head, appraising her as his lips twist into a soft smile. “Speech writer.”

“Nope.”

“Ah!” HIs eyes light up. “Your Majesty! I didn’t recognize you without your crown!”

Rey laughs. “No, my apologies, the accent tends to throw people off.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Rey Johnson, the MP for Esquimalt-Saanich-Sooke.”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful.” He shakes her hand. His grip is perfect; firm but not uncomfortable, warm but not moist, and he lingers just a second more than normal. “I’m Ben.”

“Just Ben?” There’s a twinge of recognition at the name. Perhaps he’s a journalist, or maybe a backbencher she’s skimmed over?

“Ha! Yeah, just Ben. I’m not a Minister of Whatever or the Governor General...yet.”

“Well, good luck with that. I heard Palpatine might actually resign within the next hundred years, so you should start sucking up to Snoke right about now.” She shuffles up to the counter and squints at the menu, even though she orders the same thing every time. “Uh, one iced capp please, and three cruller Timbits.”

“Plus one medium coffee, one sugar no cream and, uhhhh, an everything bagel, toasted dry.” Ben sneaks around her shoulder and taps his card on the reader before she can get a word in. “Why three Timbits and not just one doughnut?”

Rey stares at him, stunned for second. “Uh. Because it’s cheaper, and you get more of the outside part. Why did you–?”

“You said it’s your first day, and I wanted you to start it off well.”

“Oh.” Her face flushes and she shuffles awkwardly to the side to wait for her order. Ben follows, scrolling through his phone. “Um...thanks for that.”

He looks up and gives her a crooked smile. “Yeah, no problem.”

They fall into companionable silence as the other customers bustle around them. Rey scrolls through her Instagram, liking comments while stealing quick glances at Ben. He’s well dressed but not too put together, meaning he’s probably a high ranking staffer for some cabinet minister, or maybe even a reporter. 

_Oh god._ She’s going to have to get used to the idea of reporters wanting to talk to her, especially with her glitzy new position as the only real swing vote in the House. She clears her throat and manages to choke out, “Who do you work for?”

He looks over at her, brow furrowed. “Hm?”

“Sorry. I was wondering– who do you work for? Are you like a staffer or a reporter or something?”

He frowns, opening his mouth to answer and then–

“One iced capp, three Timbits, one coffee, and a toasted everything bagel.”

“Oh!” Rey pockets her phone and grabs her share of the food over the counter while Ben does the same with his. 

“Everything look good?” he wonders, taking a huge bite of his dry as hell looking bagel. 

She peeks open the little tan bag and counts her Timbits. “Yup. All present and accounted for.”

“Good. I’d hate for you to start off your day with any less.” His bagel is already almost gone, and he’s downing the hot coffee like a man starved. “Sorry, I gotta go. It was nice to meet you, Rey.”

“Wait!” 

It’s so unlike her to initiate anything beyond basic human interactions, but he seems nice, and she doesn’t know many people in town yet. Plus it’s part of her job, to talk to the public and keep her finger on the pulse of the country. 

Ben pauses, slowly chewing the last bite of his bagel. “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering, maybe, if I could...have your number?” 

She blushes and it’s stupid. It’s not like she’s asking him to marry her; she would just rather connect with someone she’s actually met in person and not just random people looking for ‘friends’ on Tinder. And Ben seems nice; he bought her Timbits for God’s sake, and didn’t ask for anything in return.

He stares at her for a second, then smiles. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Passing him her phone, she watches as his large fingers fly over the screen with practiced ease. He hands it back to her and she smiles back when she sees he’s saved his information under ‘Ben’ with a doughnut emoji. “Thanks,” she says. “Sorry if it’s weird, but you seem like you’re not a creep.”

He shrugs. “I mean, I try.”

He’s just out the door when she texts him.

<_thnx 4 the doughnut>_

Hunkered down in a booth, she watches him react to the vibration, then smile at her message. Not a creep at all, it would seem. Apparently even decent enough to give his real number to an overly friendly woman at Timmies.

* * *

“I’m nervous.”

Another ceremonial cannon fires outside on the grounds, and Rey shivers. Rose pats her hand. “That’s good. You should be nervous, this is a big responsibility.”

Another shot. “When do we have to go in?”

Rose glances at the slim gold watch tucked under the sleeve of her blazer. “Whenever we want. Soon, probably. Palpatine is slow, but he’s not going to take all day, even if he does end up asking the life story of every single guard he’s supposed to be examining out there.”

Taking in a gulp of stale air, Rey shakes her head and looks around the mostly empty foyer. Poe and the rest of Rose’s party members are already inside, along with Leia Organa, Armitage Hux, and other notable MPs. “I’m just– I don’t know. It’s weird; I know I’m not special, but yet when I walk through those doors, it’s just going to be me, you know?” She sighs. “I guess this is a bit how Luke felt...after it all happened.”

Rose squeezes her hand. “You’re not going to be alone.”

“I know I’m not physically, and all of you have been such a great help, but I am alone. I’m a party of one. Tucked up in the back corner–”

“–along with me. And Kay.” Rose elbows her gently in the ribs. “Come on. Don’t worry about it today, at least. It’s just going to be ceremony.”

The doors to the House of Commons are heavy and ornate, carved from a dark wood that’s musty with age. The carpets are green, representing the working class origins of the common people, and carry into the large, open chamber, flanked on either side with ascending rows of bleacher-like wooden desks, occupied by all of the newly minted Members of Parliament. She and Rose are both seated by the gallery, far enough away that she’s sure she would be able to nap during boring sessions, if her conscience allowed it. 

“Where have you two been?” Poe hisses as they climb the steps to their seats. He’s in the front row, quite close to the Speaker, and C’ai is seated next to him. “It’s about to start.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” Rose snaps back. 

The moss green chairs are not comfortable, and puts a huge wrench into Rey’s napping plans, plus the room itself is so oppressively stuffy that she’s not sure she could ever feel relaxed enough slouch, let alone sleep. 

“So, this is it,” she breathes.

Next to her, Rose nods and grins. “Yup.”

People are chatting around them, shaking hands, some even hugging. The Speaker, a Conservative MP named Moden Canady, lounges at the front in a chair that looks approximately four million times more comfortable than the one Rey’s sitting in while a staff member reads to him from a clipboard. 

There’s three sharp thumps on the door. Rey sits up straighter and scans the crowd, but most of them continue chatting, completely unfazed by the fact that their part in the ceremony is starting. She spots the back of Amilyn Holdo’s head, easily distinguishable by her vibrant lilac hair and, across the hall, spies Armitage Hux, Snoke’s right hand man, his pale face wrinkled with disgust, and behind him– 

Her stomach clenches. _No_. 

“Rose..._Rose…_” she hisses.

The door opens, and she sees a glimpse of the Black Rod, the chief Parliamentary protocol officer, lurking at the entrance. At this point of the ceremony he’s here to escort the MPs to the Senate. The Sergeant-at-Arms, waiting on the floor, hoists the heavy gold mace onto his shoulder and walks over to the Speaker while Rose leans over on her chair and whispers, “What?”

“The man...the man behind Hux.” Rey does a triple check, just to be sure. “Who is that?”

Rose squints across the room, then lets out a quiet hum of recognition. “The black haired guy? That’s Ben Solo, Snoke’s Whip.”

The Black Rod enters the House and addresses the Speaker, requesting their presence at the Senate to hear Palpatine’s speech, then there’s a rumbling shuffle as the MPs get up from their seats, groaning and grunting and cracking joints. Through all of this, as she clambers down the steps she just climbed and files out of the House, Rey’s eyes remain fixed on Ben, _doughnut_ Ben, who allegedly is not a creep despite being the arbiter of party discipline for Snoke’s slimey Conservatives. 

And he wasn’t even on her cheat sheet! _And_ he told her he wasn’t a Cabinet Minister, which is technically true, even though the role of Whip is crucial to the party’s success far more than the hypothetical Minister of Sport. She imagines him looming over the members of his party, dressed in his black suit, dry, toasted bagel in hand. 

The crowd shifts as they line up at the entrance to the Senate. Thanks to some antiquated convention about class divides or whatever, they’re not actually allowed _in_ the chamber to hear the speech; instead, they have to squish together right outside the room and, in Rey’s case, stand up on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of what’s going on. 

“Need some help?”

She looks to her left and almost falls over. Ben’s standing right next to her, looking equal parts bored and smug as he watches her attempt to balance on her thrift store Mary Janes. 

“None from you, thanks,” she mutters. “The Timbits were enough.”

“I’m hurt. You didn’t even remember the iced capp.”

The smug fuck is _grinning_ now, as Palpatine drones on about pomp and ceremony and a bunch of other nonsense the Queen allegedly wrote. She fumes and tries to shuffle away, but the crowd is too thick now and all her movement does is force her tighter against Ben’s arm. She wiggles in protest, attempting to look dignified even though she’s trapped behind Dianne Phasma, the MP for Cold Lake, who is _literally_ the tallest woman alive even without her five inch heels. 

“I remember the fucking iced capp,” Rey fumes. “I also remember you telling me that you were just a nobody. Didn’t mention being Snoke’s Whip, or anything of the sort.”

“Oh, didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind.” He looks down at her with a grin on his face, which falters when he sees her anger. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re _sorry_. I’m in one of the most vulnerable positions of my life, and I have had a _lot_ of shit thrown at me, let me tell you, and I still decided to open up to some guy I met at Tim Hortons who was nice to me and neglected to tell me that he’s literally the left hand of Satan himself...and you’re _sorry_ about it? Fuck you.”

“Rey, I didn’t–”

The crowd shifts again, and Rey takes the opportunity to wedge herself behind an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and Kay, who squeezes up against the wall to give her room. Ben’s dour face is lost in the shuffle, but it remains etched in Rey’s mind as she tries to catch the last few notes of Palpatine’s speech, even as tears well in her eyes. 


	3. rot in hell

It’s lonely being a party of one.

Well, two technically, if she counts Maz, Luke’s former chief of staff. It makes for a very quiet office, Maz sorting emails as Rey frantically types on her laptop, educating herself about the Conservative’s platform and how it will affect her constituents. She has a budget for up to ten staff, but it honestly doesn’t make sense to her, how she’ll manage to drudge up enough work for multiple people.

At least it _didn’t_ make sense initially, but now that’s she’s having to parse a whole platform and juggle what would be multiple portfolios for multiple people, she realises that staying informed exceeds her capacity so, reluctantly, she tells Maz to post two positions to start off, dreading the stack of resumes she’ll have to look through.

“I’ve just never had to hire anyone,” she explains to Rose over lunch, scooping a large bite of rice noodles from her three colour bowl. “Ever. I mean, look at me!”

She’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of old Levi’s she bought from Value Village, looking exactly like a stereotypical college kid, while Rose is dressed in a professional blazer and structured pencil skirt. Rey _would_ have dressed up, except she spilled Kraft Dinner on her only blazer last night, and tripped on her dress pants, ripping the hem.

“Well we can fix _this_.” Rose gestures to her attire. “You can certainly afford to go shopping with your new salary.”

“Only thrift stores,” Rey counters. “No need to be wasteful.”

“Fine.” Rose pokes at her lemongrass pork. “So...you didn’t tell me how you know Ben Solo,” she says casually, eyes on her lunch.

Rey chokes. “I-I don’t.”

Frowning, Rose takes a small bite of meat and chews, deep in thought. “So, you were just wondering who he was the other day? Why, did you think he was cute or something? I just assumed you knew him through Luke.”

“No! Oh, God no. A Conservative?” Rey sticks out her tongue, disgusted. “No, I– how would I know him through Luke?”

Rose’s eyes go wide. “Because he’s Luke’s nephew. Leia Organa’s son.”

Suddenly, Rey feels like she’s going to faint, or barf. “And he’s a _Conservative?”_

It’s not right, for the son and nephew of two of the most influential left wing leaders in recent Canadian history to be a member of the Conservative Party. The new generation is supposed to be _more_ liberal than the last; if anything, Ben Solo should be representing the Marxist Leninist party. 

“Oh, he’s Conservative alright. Voted against voter reform, increasing our max cap on refugees, environmental regulation. You didn’t say how you know him?”

Rey shrugs. “It’s nothing. He just bought me breakfast the day before, so I–”

“He _what_?”

Rose looks murderous, her chopsticks clenched in her fist like she’s about to stab someone.

“I’m sure he was just trying to be nice.” 

Rey tries to wave it off, but Rose won’t be placated, not that easily. “Rey, he’s Snoke’s Whip. It’s his job to know everything about _everyone _in his party, and everyone else’s. His _job_ is to provide leverage, to force people to toe the party line, to bodily drag people into the House if it’s necessary to pass legislation. You’re the swing vote, and you think he bought you breakfast to be _nice_?”

“It was only an iced capp and three Timbits!” 

“Because that’s what you order! And he’s sneaky like that; it’s not like he could order you a dozen doughnuts and five bottles of peach juice without you becoming suspicious.” Rose slams her chopsticks down on the table and pulls out her phone. “What _exactly_ did he tell you? Wait, I’m going to call Poe–”

“Please don’t.” Rey’s voice is quiet, pleading. “It’s embarrassing. I trusted him, and he–”

Her gut burns with shame. It’s just her luck that the one person she’s taken a chance on is the person whose job it is to manipulate her. 

Rose’s eyes go soft. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have known.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just...I’m just stupid.”

“You’re not stupid! A guy was nice to you and you trusted him, and he betrayed that trust!” She’s angry now, brandishing her chopsticks like a weapon. “Like Ben Solo could ever be nice without an ulterior motive.”

“If you say so.”

Rey swirls her own chopsticks through the puddle of hoisin and fish sauce collecting at the bottom of her bowl. She feels stupid even though, objectively, it’s not stupid to imagine that someone would choose to be kind to her. It’s not stupid to trust that people have the capacity for altruism, even though she now lives in a national capital steeped in intrigue and full of back stabbers and adulterers (allegedly). 

_Oh god,_ the voice in her head is starting to sound like her therapist, which probably means the therapy is working. Pushing aside the resentment and abandonment issues still percolating in her gut, she asks, “So what do you think I should do about it? If anything, that is.”

“You should call him out,” Rose spits. “Corner him the next time you see him and ask him what his game is. 

She could. She _should_, but the prospect of making political enemies so early in her career is staggering. She didn’t come to play a game; she came to save the environment, which is why after work, when she’s casually window shopping for boots at The Bay and spots Ben Solo across the shoe department, the first thing she does it drop to the ground in fear. 

The carpet smells of mud and colonization. Pulse in her throat, she peeks around the particleboard display case and spots a pair of shiny black dress shoes hurrying towards her. 

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay? I saw you fall, and I just–” His voice falters when he spots her, face down on the carpet, cowering in shame. “Rey? Rey Johnson?”

She groans. “Say it a bit louder, why don’t you?”

He offers his hand, which she bats away. Hefting herself upright, she busies herself with brushing bits of gravel off of her jeans and tires to avoid his concerned gaze. “I’m fine,” she mumbles. “I’m fine, just a bit stupid unfortunately. You can go.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He huffs. “Can we talk?”

“No.” Content with the state of her clothing, she straightens her posture and faces him with the most imposing glare she can muster, cursing the fact that he stands a good half a foot taller than her, at least. “No, I don’t talk with liars who are hell bent on destroying the environment for their own capitalistic gains.”

He has the gall to actually roll his eyes. “I’m not the one shopping for boots at a bougie department store. Isn’t that against your brand?”

“For your information, I have no intention of buying anything at this imperialist, nostalgia pandering, smallpox peddling hellscape. I’m simply getting ideas for what to look out for at Goodwill.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unlike _some _people.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not so high on myself that I’ll resort to buying used underwear to assuage my white guilt.” 

Eyes wide, she slowly looks down at the three packages of SAXX brand boxer briefs (black, of course) that he’s holding. She chokes. “I–”

“And no, I’m not going to apologize for buying expensive underwear, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“I’m not, I…” She clears her throat, then remembers Rose’s emphatic command from lunch. “Why are you talking to me?”

He’s taken aback, clutching his underwear to his chest like she’s wounded him. “I-I’m just trying to be nice.” He recovers quickly, standing straight and squaring his shoulders. “You said you were new, and it’s just you in your party.”

“But did you know that? Before? Back when you were Ben Doughnut Emoji?”

It’s kind of funny how the atmosphere can shift so suddenly, from mustly, dank, overpriced department store to something more dark and intimate. It’s almost as if the walls close in around them, as Ben steps closer, masking his features into indifference and confesses, “I did.”

Rey _knew;_ he had to after all, if he was any good at his position. After all, there’s 169 of them and only one of her. But it’s still a betrayal, making her stomach go sour with the memories of her ill obtained coffee and doughnut holes as she trembles with anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I think you know why.” He tilts his head, thoughtful. “Why did you leave Luke?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with this!” she sputters. 

“Doesn’t it though? Why is it that any of us are here? Power, influence.” He leans even closer and sneers, “The desire to ‘make a difference’. You knew that hitching your wagon to Skywalker would maybe land you his seat eventually, but you couldn’t wait that long, could you?”

She opens her mouth, then quickly closes it. 

“Ah, yes.” Ben smiles, but it feels impersonal and cold. “I need to know you to keep my party in power, to keep my interests in play and guarantee an upward trajectory for my career. And if I need to tell a white lie to a naive MP from the west coast, then that’s what I’m going to do, and I’m not going to lose any sleep about it.”

Her face crumples for a brief second, before she musters up all of her anger, all of her frustration at this land exploiting, anti-woman, gas guzzling piece of garbage lording over her. “You’re a monster.”

His eye twitches. “Yes, I am.”

The shoe department is still deserted. She could escape, just turn around and walk away without making a scene, but for some reason she can’t. There’s a question tickling the back of her brain, something that’s been bothering her ever since her lunch with Rose. 

“Why did you join the Conservatives? Your family–”

He laughs, barking and harsh. “My family. Ah yes, my uncle the Prime Minister who abandoned his party because of a disagreement with my mother. Did he ever explain the circumstances behind their fight, or was he content to gloss over it like a coward?”

Rey justs out her chin. “It was about trade.”

“About trade. How quaint. Is all of your policy interpretation so comprehensive?”

“If you know so much about it, why don’t you tell me instead of asking such asinine questions?”

Ben pauses, mouth slightly open. “Hmm, so you do have some bite. Fine then; my uncle abandoned his party over trade negotiations with China. Let’s just say he was willing to let certain human rights issues slide, and my mother called him out on it. Rallied the whole party behind her, and gave him an ultimatum: either recant the deal, or she would force him out.”

“So he left.”

He nods. “He left, to save his own skin. Made a big deal about it, how she forced him out over a ‘trade dispute’ whatever that means, and my mother was too noble to publicize the actual reason. See, when it comes down to it, all politicians care about is their image and the bottom line, and I decided that image was bullshit. Why pretend to care about all of these things when we just need to get things done?”

“All of these things?” Rey’s head is spinning, because his words are just the right amount of sense clothed in bullshit that, for a second, she almost believes he’s right. “You mean the environment, right? And the rights of women, of Indigenous people, and of immigrants?”

“No, no. See, when you say it like that, you make it seem like business and growing the economy is incompatible with minority rights, and it’s not.”

He reaches his hand out, fingertips almost grazing her elbow before he thinks better of it and cranes his head towards the wall. Rolling her eyes, she shuffles over with him until they’re both partially concealed behind a display of Sorel winter boots. 

“Snoke wants me to reach out to you so I can explain how our parties can work together. Do we need your vote? Sure, yeah, but it’s foolish to think that we can’t offer you something equally as important.”

Rage bubbles in her belly. “You’re _insane_ if you think I’m going to compromise–”

“Hush.” His full lips curl into a soft smile. “So angry! You’re an MP, you represent a riding, correct?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes.

“No need to be petulant, Rey. You may scream and puff about saving the planet, but when it comes down to it, you represent a riding full of constituents who are relying on you to advocate on their behalf. It’s bullheaded for you to refuse federal funding for schools, for land reserves, for infrastructure on the basis of flimsy principles.”

“I–” 

“How will those 90 thousand or so residents react when you explain that you refused millions of dollars for their homes and parks and infrastructure? Or that you turned up your nose at federal advocacy for indigenous land rights on the Island?”

“Shut up.” Rey’s glare is razor sharp. “Shut _up. _My constituents voted for me because they trust my values and my judgement. They trust that I will uphold the health of our planet above everything else, because our planet is our children’s fu–”

“What are you, like eighteen or something?”

“I’m _twenty_, you disgusting prat!”

“Twenty then.” He takes a step back and narrows his eyes, assessing her. “Give it a few years. That idealism will melt away once you realize that money has to come from somewhere, and that stubbornness doesn’t fix roads and plan bus routes.”

“It won’t take a few years for your party to be a footnote in the history books,” she snaps back. “And when that happens, I’ll be here.”

“Yes.” He smiles again, this time wide and earnest with a flash of teeth. “Yes, I believe you will.”

Suddenly, she feels the bubble burst around them. The sounds of the staff, music, customers walking by all filter back into her consciousness as Ben Solo takes another step back, then admits, “I watched your debate, you know? When you won your seat in the House, I watched your debate and listened to your radio interviews.”

Despite herself, Rey asks, “And what did you think?”

“Honestly? A bit rough, a bit crass, but overall you’re a powerful speaker. It’s obvious that you have strong convictions, and you’re willing to back them up with solid research and a commanding presence.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and winces. “I need to get going. I know I’ve given you a lot to think about–”

“_Hardly_.”

He frowns. “–but I trust you’ll give my proposal the consideration it deserves. We could do a lot of good together, you and I.”

As he walks past her, he lets his arm just-so deliberately nudge hers, then he leans over and admits, “And I bought you breakfast because I think you're cute. So there's that."

She whirls around. His long legs have already taken him a few metres away but, if she squints, she can just make out the hint of blush tipped ears through his wavy black hair. 

* * *

Parliament is a grind. Initially, Rey thought it was going to be like high school all over again, where she could sit back and take in information, maybe speak when it was pertinent and raise her hand when called on, and for the most part she’s right. With the high school analogy, that is, because the House of Commons is what high school would be if the students were all adults, the popular kids were all fascists, the classes were all in one room, and there were no teachers or discipline whatsoever.

Sure, she’s watched some videos to prepare herself, but it’s still shocking to see the Prime Minister stand up to give bill C-1 (something heinous regarding immigration) its first reading, and have Poe Dameron and the rest of the NDP boo him outright while the Speaker splutters with indignation. Predictably, Snoke is smug about the whole thing, and even quips about them being his ‘personal hecklers’, but there’s something so jarring about elected politicians regressing to the level of five year olds that Rey vows to maintain her dignity during her time in the House.

This lasts...maybe the first two days? Three maybe? Once her first Friday rolls around, she’s so done with the incessant, self-important grandstanding from across the aisle that she finds herself snickering at Armitage Hux’s reports, rolling her eyes at the Speaker, and letting out her own low _boo_ when Snoke stands during Question period. 

Luckily Friday means an early adjournment, which leaves her with enough time to swing past Superstore on her way home to grab some mixers for the party she and Rose are throwing. This early in the parliamentary session, it’s not practical to fly back home when things are still getting ironed out, so they decide to have a little something to blow off some steam before getting back to work on the weekend. The pork they’ve slow cooked all day is falling apart by the time they get home and, with buns and coleslaw and drinks, it’s a full blown bash by 6pm.

Rey’s halfway into her second glass of Kay’s mystery cocktail when there’s a loud knock at the door. Someone yells “_shit, the cops”_ even though it’s not even 9 and there’s no lights flashing outside, so she grabs her beige cardigan from the back of the house and trudges into the mudroom, with Rose and Poe right behind her.

There’s only one person on the stoop when she opens the door, a nervous young guy around her age. He’s familiar, definitely a face she’s glared at a bit this week, confirmed by the way Poe spits out a venomous, “You!”

The guy points to himself. “Me? What did I do?”

“You’re a Conservative,” Rose hisses. “That’s enough.”

“Okay, okay.” The guy holds his hands up in surrender. “You got me. But I swear, I come in peace. Can I come in? I-I don’t really want anyone seeing me here.”

Rey steps aside, leaving just enough space for the stranger to squeeze into the mudroom and shut the door behind himself. “Thanks,” he breathes, rubbing at his arms. “I’m Finn. Finn Iginla.”

“I’m Rey.”

Finn holds out his hand. She stares at it, dumbfounded, before dragging her eyes back up to his and wincing.

“Okay fine.” He stuffs his hand in his pocket. “But I swear I was telling the truth. I need to tell you guys some stuff...stuff that’s in the works for this session.”

“But why do you need to come to my house? At nine PM?” Rose asks, eyes drawn with suspicion. “Every bill is brought before the house eventually, and it’s not like it’s going to pass unanimously. Snoke must know he’s screwed.”

“That’s the thing.” Finn lowers his voice. “He’s not acting that way at all. We had caucus after the session ended today, and he basically said that everything’s on the table. All of the big ticket items, abortion, gay marriage, weed, immigration. He says this is the party’s time to get things done.”

“But that’s insane,” Poe deadpans. “Snoke doesn’t have the numbers. Plus the Senate is still mostly red–”

“–by only three senators, and 20 of them are over sixty. He’s in this for the long haul.”

Poe taps his foot, frustrated. “But he’s not even going to be able to pass his damn budget. How the hell does he expect to what? Make abortion illegal? _Seriously?_”

Finn shrugs. “I don’t know, but he seems really confident.”

“He must have someone on Leia’s team,” Rose says.

“No, Holdo and I went over this yesterday,” Poe snaps. “All of her members are in line, and so are ours.” 

There’s a beat of silence then, in unison, all three of them turn to Rey. 

She clutches her cardigan tighter. “Don’t look at me.”

“Has Ben Solo talked to you?” There’s fire in Rose’s eyes, and her voice raises. “Did he promise you something, because I swear to you, it’s not worth–”

“Wait, they sent Solo after you?” Poe interjects. “When? How?”

“He bought me breakfast my first morning here,” Rey admits. “Then I ran into him when I was shopping for boots and he...we talked.”

Finn turns to Rose and Poe and raises his eyebrows. “I _told_ you, he thinks he’s got her.”

“He doesn’t _have _me at all! I was very adamant that I don’t want any of his party’s dirty money!”

“Technically it’s the taxpayer’s money,” Rose clarifies. “But yes, I agree with the sentiment. Also, he must think they’ve got you if they’re wanting to re-open the morality politics issues.”

“It’s never too early to gun for a majority next round,” Poe groans. “Can you imagine another _eight_ years of Conservative government?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Rey focuses on Finn. “What about you? If you’re so concerned about these issues, why are you even with them?”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and holds his chin high. “I have my reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Rose steps forward, accidentally knocking over a small pile of shoes at the door. “Listen buddy, when you came knocking, you made it our business.”

“It’s legal stuff, okay? Stuff that relies on powerful people...more powerful than me, anyways.”

“So you’re being blackmailed?”

“No!” He kicks one of the shoes. “Not really.”

“Well thank you. For telling us, that is.”

Rey gives him a small smile. It’s easy to get caught up in their differences and the reasons behind them, but when she looks at Finn she sees someone who ultimately wants to do the right thing, while still accounting for the personal risk. From her perspective, she’s always thrown herself into what she believes in, but every day she’s realizing that it’s more complicated for most. 

_Oh god. _She feels a heavy weight settle in her gut. _I’m starting to sound like Ben Solo._

Finn and Poe exchange personal emails and numbers, with Finn promising to WhatsApp him with any developments. He ducks away when the coast is clear, leaving the other three to head back to the party, this new development heavy in their minds. 

Rey slumps into a thrifted butterfly chair next to the living room window, another class of booze in hand. The rest of the group is playing Cards Against Humanity (Canadian edition, of course) in the living room, but she excuses herself, citing fatigue. Someone plays the Stephen Harper card in conjunction with anal beads, and the entire table roars with laughter, but to Rey it all sounds like white noise.

She ran for her seat because she wanted to make a difference. Luke’s jaded attitude seemed disloyal and ineffectual, and she swore to herself she would represent her constituents while also saving the planet, and she vowed to do it all with a smile on her face. But _how_? With only one vote in a body of almost three hundred? How will her single scream of dissension sway anything?

There’s an obvious answer, but it makes her sick to consider it.

It’s probably the third glass of mystery cocktail talking when she pulls up her phone, goes to her messages and selects her past text to Ben Solo, then replies: 

<_i dont want any of your dirty money, you fucking monster. rot in hell>_

Then, to be extra petty, she goes to his contact information, deletes the doughnut emoji after his name, and replaces it with a string of angry demons and poops.


	4. don't be a fucking martyr

The House is in a state of chaos when she arrives on Monday. There’s a lineup running out the door and, once she finally makes it inside, the sea of MPs are all grumbling and confused.

“Canady rearranged the seating,” explains Dr. Harter Kalonia, the Liberal rep from York. “He does it often as a power move.”

“He can do that?” Rey gapes.

“He can, and he does, very transparently.” The doctor shuffles up to the front of the line, where two parliamentary secretaries are explaining the new layout with a diagram. She frowns at the chart then lets out a sigh. “Rey, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” 

Rey wiggles up next to her and scans the coloured boxes. It doesn’t seem _ too _ different, except–

“_What?_”

They moved her. Those _bastards_ moved her across the aisle so, instead of being up in the back benches with Rose, she’s front and centre, right next to the speaker, and surrounded by a sea of blue Conservatives. The isolation is so blatant, plus the symbolism: that she’s aligned with them in position, if not ideologically. 

At least she’s not by Ben Solo. Rey thanks whoever’s listening for small miracles as she hefts her bag onto her shoulder and trudges over to her seat in between Dianne Phasma and some short man with straw coloured hair that sticks out in every direction. “Well, this is a nice view at least,” she quips, drawing an unimpressed stare from the other woman.

“Are you going to be talking this much all the time?” Phasma drawls. She taps her nails, long and silvery chrome, on the felt top of the desk.

“I–”

“Like I told Ben, I’m fine with sitting next to a tree hugging, pot smoking, patchouli wearing hippie, as long as she doesn’t make a lot of noise. So you won’t, will you?”

Fire blossoms in Rey’s chest. She straightens, bag bumping up against her seat, and hisses, “I’ll be making as much noise as I want, thank you very much!”

Phasma rolls her eyes. “Pity.”

_ There goes a potential connection with a prominent female politician. _ Despite her politics, Rey has a grudging respect for Phasma, who served for almost 20 years at Canadian Forces Base Cold Lake culminating in a run as the Commanding Officer of a military police squadron. She’s a natural choice to represent the area, and tough as nails in the House, but apparently that level of kick-ass also translates to an extreme lack of people skills.

Rey pulls out her laptop and opens the day’s agenda. They’re starting a second reading of another one of Snoke’s short sighted and racist bills, then listening to Member Statements, Question Period, more bills, then adjournment. She opens her notes in a separate window, then opens the first proposed bill in a third.

Readings are tedious, but bring with them a unique sense of drama. After all, every bill presented, no matter how laughably bad, could technically become legislation if agreed upon, and _ wow _ so far Snoke’s bills have been stinkers. Bill C-1, which she has colloquially titled ‘ _ An Act to Prevent Refugees from Stealing Our Money’ _ is based entirely on the limitation of funding provided to incoming refugee families, along with severely limiting the amount of refugees accepted from certain countries, which Snoke’s government labels as ‘low-priority aid areas’. In Rey’s opinion, any area Canada provides aid should be a priority, but she keeps her mouth shut for now, content to listen to the debate and hopefully learn something.

Member Statements are the parliamentary equivalent of oversharing Facebook posts from distant relatives. MPs take the time to stand and comment on whatever’s going on in their riding and, for the most part, it’s boring as hell. Dopheld Mitaka, the MP for Markham-Unionville, stutters through an update on the various corporations in his riding and hints at the need for more federal incentives, which makes Rey snort with disgust. C’ai reports on Churchill’s polar bear based tourism industry, which is apparently a thing, and the member from Peace River-Westlock delivers a rote report on voter apathy. 

The day drags on until finally the House is adjourned and she’s able to stuff her things back into her bag and slink home for a quick supper. Not wanting to participate in the ‘adjournment shuffle’ she waits in her seat until the majority of the MPs have left, texting with Maz and answering a couple of emails from constituents.

A long shadow falls over her desk. “Hey.”

Frowning, she looks up at the equally dour face of Ben Solo. “What.”

“We need to talk.”

She raises an eyebrow and returns to her phone. “No. We don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

Frustrated, she shoves her phone into her bag and jumps to her feet, slamming her finger into his chest. “Fine! Let’s talk! Let’s talk about–”

Ben goes tense and his head twitches, just enough to alert her of the 3 NDP MPs and gaggle of clerks and pages still in the chamber, barely visible behind his massive shoulders. Rey bites her lip and stares at her shoulder strap, barely reined in emotions bubbling under her skin. 

This has to be the worst thing about being in Ottawa. She feels constantly watched, unable to speak without ten people overhearing what she has to say, having to peek behind corners to check for Conservatives before she can call her chief of staff. Rose told her about the old parliamentary restaurant, where the acoustics were such that it was possible to catch entire conversations from across the room. This entire city is bathed in whispers and for Rey, who’s used to either shutting up or screaming with rage, it’s totally stifling.

“Let me take you to dinner,” Ben suggests. “Anywhere you want. Then we can talk.”

“No!” Rey scowls. “That’s literally the worst possible thing. What if somebody sees us?”

“Then let them see. It’s not a crime. Besides, outside of Parliament, no one knows who we are. This isn’t Washington DC. People here don’t give a shit.”

“Well, you’re paying then.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s the whole point.”

She makes them take separate cars there, despite the fact that it’s only five blocks away,_ and _the second car is a total waste of resources. Apparently this is what he does to her; he makes her so flustered and confused that she forgets her principles amidst her flailing. She suggests sushi because it’s expensive, then curses her choice the entire drive over because fish here is probably disgusting and can’t compare to her favourite hole in the wall place in Port Alberni, plus she’s probably going to look like a total moron trying to use chopsticks when she normally just throws the rolls into her mouth with her fingers.

Not that she cares what he thinks of her. He’s a _ Conservative _ first off, plus he’s outright trying to manipulate her, so every word out of his mouth is shit and every nice thing he does is a bribe. Still, she can’t help but feel a twinge of something in her chest when he helps her with her coat and guides her to the table with the very lightest of touches on her lower back.

_ Asshole _, she grumbles. She hates how she can still feel the warmth of his hand through her blouse. 

“Do you mind if I order for us?” He grins. “This is one of my favourite places.”

“Yes, I do mind,” she says, crisply. “I’m quite particular about my fish.”

“Because you’re an Island girl, right.” He hums. “That doesn’t explain the accent though.”

Rey bristles. He hasn’t earned the right to her life story. Very few people have, and even fewer have actually heard it, but there’s something about his casual, offhand tone of voice that makes her want to summon up all of her pain and misery and wipe it in his face. 

“I went through a bit of a Harry Potter phase as a child,” she starts off. “You see, my parents abandoned me at at Greyhound station when I was six years old. They were British, so naturally I imagined that they were wizards and left me in Canada for my own safety. You know, like how Hermione leaves her parents in Australia when she goes off to fight Voldemort. Anyways, long story short, they weren’t wizards and never ended up coming back for me, but thanks to my obsession the accent stuck!”

“They may have died.”

“Excuse me?”

Ben’s eyes flick up from his menu. “In the Wizarding War? Your parents may have died fighting Voldemort, and you just never knew. They could be war heroes, just like Harry’s parents.”

“I–” That is not the response she was expecting. There’s no shock in his gaze, no mock sympathy or thinly veiled discomfort.

“I used to imagine that my parents were superheroes,” he admits. “My mom would be gone a lot, and even when she was home she would be preoccupied. My dad too….he drives truck and I would always beg him to take me along on the shorter runs but he said it would be too boring for me.”

“So who took care of you?”

“Sometimes one of my mom’s staffers, but initially it was mostly Luke.” He reaches across the table and pours her a small cup of tea from the squat ceramic pot. “He didn’t run until quite a few years after my mum became an MP, but he ended up being chosen as party leader instead of her. _ She _claims it’s because she’s a woman.”

Rey picks up her teacup and takes a dainty sip, letting the toasty flavour of roasted rice linger on her tongue. “She’s probably not wrong.”

“Nope.” He pours his own cup and then leans back in his chair. “Anyway, sorry for hijacking your story. Just wanted to say that I kind of get where you’re coming from, from some extent. Being an adult is fucking rough, having to unravel all of the stories you told yourself as a kid to stay sane.”

The waiter comes to take their orders and Ben orders the ootoro don, much to her frustration because _ she _ was going to order it and now feels like she’s copying him so she panics and orders some chicken thing that looks basic and way overpriced. Thankfully the tea is great, giving her something to do with her hands as they wait for their food.

“So why Greens?” he asks her, mid sip.

She sputters. “The fact that you’re asking me that question means that you’re not going to understand my answer.”

“Try me.”

“Fine.” Taking in a deep breath, she pushes away her teacup and starts. “Because of my background, I know what it’s like to have to fend for myself. I know what it’s like to have none of the amenities we take for granted, like a car or a microwave or fridge, you know, whatever. When I was nine, I was part of a government program where I was taught how to fish by a Kwakwaka'wakw elder named Gloria, and I realized that the planet is our life. I had _ nothing _, but because I was given the gift of knowledge I was able to survive, without all of the modern amenities. I believe that the Green Party is our best chance of giving our planet a future, which in turn gives us a future. I believe that caring for our most vulnerable and respecting the land rights of indigenous peoples is essential to creating a society where we can all life in dignity and–”

“Okay, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I get it.” Ben holds up his hand and smiles. “But what if I told you that last year I donated 200k to charity and, under a hypothetical Green government, I wouldn’t have been able to do that due to your asinine proposed tax brackets?”

“Well, then I would tell you that you’re the exception, not the rule. Most high income earners don’t choose to donate, even with tax incentives. We can’t rely on private donations to support social programs, Ben. Not when lives are at stake.” She stares at the table, stalwartly refusing to think about the fact that 200k is more than she’s ever made in her (admittedly short) life. 

“But you flew here, right?”

“Oh, _ come on _!” she groans. “The whole ‘you use fossil fuels so how can you protest the oil and gas industry’ argument is so tired! We’re all complicit in the injustices of our globalized society, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t hope to do better. I don’t see you badgering the waiter to make sure this fish is ethically sourced and humanely harvested.”

“That’s because I don’t give a fuck.” He grins, lazily. “I don’t see you asking him either.”

“I saw the OceanWise logo on the back of the menu,” she blurts out.

“But you ordered the chicken.”

“I’m sure if they made an effort with the fish, they must have with the chicken.”

Laughing, he moves the tea and cups aside to make room for their food. The waiter arrives a second later, depositing a bowl of pink, glossy looking fatty tuna in front of Ben and a plate of rice with lacquered brown chicken in front of Rey. She stares longingly, for just a second, at the other bowl, with it’s fried shiso leaf and curly daikon garnish, before grabbing her fork and digging in to her perfectly serviceable chicken.

“Oh my God, just stop,” Ben groans.

“What do you–?”

“Don’t be a fucking martyr.” He reaches across the table and grabs her chicken, then pushes his tuna bowl into its place. “I know you want it, so don’t give me any lame excuses.”

She suppresses her tiny smile and selects her chopsticks instead. Picking up a slice of fish, she marvels at the fat marbled through the blush pink flesh, then takes a small bite. It’s _ transcendent _, the way it practically dissolves in her mouth, leaving behind the rich flavour of butter and ocean. She chases it with some tea, letting her eyes flick over to Ben and the chicken.

He’s staring at her. Well, not staring_ per say _, more like watching her as he eats, not paying attention at all to his own meal. She swallows, eyes locking onto his as he takes a sip of his own tea, his deep brown eyes making her cheeks flush with warmth.

“Thanks,” she whispers, suddenly self conscious. “For trading it.”

“I knew you wanted it,” is his response. His voice is hushed and low and full of something else, something that she doesn’t want to think about in a crowded restaurant at 8:00 PM.

_ He thinks you’re cute _ , her traitorous brain supplies. _ He thinks you’re cute and he bought you dinner. _ Normally that would make her heart beat faster with the possibilities, but he’s a rival MP and her bedroom is the size of a suburban pantry, so there’s absolutely no possibility of any of _ that _happening anytime soon, despite what the abrupt pulse between her legs is telling her. 

Focusing, she grabs another bite and says, between chews, “So, I’m not interested in any of your bribes.”

He pauses, chicken halfway to his mouth. “Oh? We’re talking about that now?”

“Well, that’s why you invited me here? Right?” she challenges.

He places his fork down and nods, once. “Yup. Okay. Uh, could you think of anything that we can offer that may convince you? If not specific funding, then maybe minor policy changes?”

“Minor? How generous of you.”

“Well, I did just buy you a $45 sashimi don.”

“You and I both know you’re expensing this.” She takes another big bite for emphasis. “And you’ve got another thing coming if you think you can buy me with the legislative equivalent of carbon offsets.”

“No, you seem more expensive than that.” A cheekier man would wink, but Ben just nips his lip with his teeth and continues. “I was thinking environmental protections. A developmental ban for the entire Salish Sea coastline.”

Rey almost drops her chopsticks. 

“I still have to run the logistics by Snoke,” he continues. “I don’t think we can make it retroactive, but we should be able to start off with a ban and then roll back some of the traffic. And this would only extend to the Canadian side, of course. But we should be able to get a fairly wide berth off the coastline. At least enough to save the whales, or whatever you’re trying to accomplish there.”

It’s insanity. He’s talking about a large portion of the southernmost tip of Vancouver Island, the part that borders with Washington State. It’s one of the most trafficked bodies of water in the province. “T-that’s so much though,” she stammers. “How would you be able to guarantee that for any amount of time?”

“I guess that would be your vested interest in this.” He resumes eating, stabbing his fork into a slice of juicy chicken with a bit of extra force. “I can guarantee that _ our _ government won’t reneg the agreement...but I can’t control what another party does.”

Fire burns deep in her gut. Oh, that’s how he wants to play this? Giving her peanuts masquerading as a dessert buffet, and expecting her to bite? “So nothing set in stone,” she clarifies. “Only an agreement that you’ll halt any new development for the next, oh, four months, if that?”

His dark eyes flash with annoyance. “The duration would be up to you, it seems.”

“Well, I’m not buying it.” Resolutely, she jabs her chopsticks into her rice bowl and sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. “The only reason we’re even having this conversation is because the government has betrayed Indigenous peoples countless times. I’m not willing to compromise my ethics and the trust of my constituents in exchange for something that’s been _ stolen _ from them. That’s not a fair trade.”

She wants to leave. In a TV drama like _ The West Wing _, this would be the moment where she’d throw her lukewarm tea into his face and storm out into the night air, but her tea is too hot and her food is too delicious, so she keeps her ass planted in her chair and takes a sulky bite of her supper.

“You can ignore me if you want,” Ben purrs. “But I promise I won’t ignore you. Give me any proposal to secure your loyalty, and I’ll listen.”

“How about you cross the floor and ditch your homophobic, climate change denying buddies? Then we can talk.”

He snorts. “Any _ reasonable _ proposal.”

“Fine then. What about you?” Rey counters. “What would it take to buy you?”

She’s surprised him. He coughs, reaching for his cup of tea to take a sip. “I–”

“Not so easy, is it?”

“I didn’t say that.” He looks up at her, and his gaze is _ molten _. “Anyone can be bought. Even me.”

She’s wandering into dangerous territory. The air shifts again, his attention laser focused on her as the other diners’ conversation sinks to a dull rumble around them. “What’s your price then?” she asks, her voice rasping against her throat.

“I would never ask it."

“Try me.”

“Rey…” He winces. “I– just, nevermind okay? Forget I said anything.”

He’s uncomfortable. _ Good _. “How about I don’t?” she pushes. “You’re so set on knowing my price, but won’t name your own? Seems like a double standard to me.”

She can tell he’s chewing on his cheek, out of shame or frustration or some other kind of gut wrenching emotion. She should feel bad; he did admit he was attracted to her earlier, and if his reaction is any indication, his supposed ‘price’ is probably linked to this. It says a lot about his sense of decorum that he’s refusing to name it, even at her insistence. Still, she pushes, because she likes the way he’s squirming across the table. She likes how she can feel his heartbeat in her hands, the way his cheeks are burning up and his lip is quivering.

She likes how she feels like she’s on an episode of _ The West Wing _. 

Reaching out, she nudges his leg with her foot and he flinches. “Ben,” she purrs. “Tell me.”

“I would–” He clears his throat. “I would never want to put you in that position.”

There it is. She swallows her last bite of ootoro and pushes the bowl away. “I see. Thanks for dinner.”

“So we’re done here?” He has the gall to look _ hurt _.

“I honestly don’t see any reason to continue. I’m not willing to compromise my ethics to work with your party, and you’re not willing to spit out what you want, so there seems to be no good reason to continue this.” Her chest bubbles with the thrill of seeing him like this, caged in his chair, looking up at her like she’s slashed him across the face. 

That is until he sits up straight, schools his face into something cold and snide, and spits, “We’ll see how long you last, then.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses, more as a formality than anything. 

He grins, his confidence restored. “You wish.”

* * *

She’s ready for this.

It’s been a week of minutiae. A week of debate and questions on immigration, tariffs, things Rey is interested in but not informed enough to make any sort of opinion known, so she’s kept her butt in her chair and listened, picking up on the cadence of the House. She doesn’t want to look like an idiot the first time she has anything of substance to say, and the proceedings are so formal that she feels a bit like a stick of driftwood caught in the workings of a well oiled machine. 

But today Armitage Hux, Finance Minister and representative of Louis-St-Laurent, is proposing the federal purchase of a pipeline construction project, one that’s been stalled for the past four years. Its purpose is to transport crude oil from Alberta to refineries overseas, and its termination on the lower mainland means an increased amount of oil being shipped along the coastline of her constituency. The project has been very controversial on a national level, but Rey’s constituents were decided long ago; more oil being transported equals a greater risk of spills, and the land and waters are far too important to risk it.

She and Rose spent the last few days poring over the proposal, and each brought their own binders full of notes to work. Rey’s got the voices of her constituents blaring in her head, chanting _ The Earth is our future, _and she’s so focused on her talking points she misses half of Hux’s presentation. He’s to her right, several seats down, so she has to crane her neck a bit to make him out.

“–this will result in a revenue of 1.2 billion the first three years of operation, based on the price of crude holding at 45 USD for the period. As such, we believe this to be a reasonable investment of the country’s finances and will ensure an excess of jobs and wages for the Prairies, which as you all know have been hit hard over the past five years.” He pauses, scanning the House with his cold blue eyes. “Now for a constituency impact statement, we have the representative from Edmonton Centre, Finn Iginla.”

Rey chokes back a squeak of shock as Finn stands, looking convicted and not guilty whatsoever of the environmental warfare he’s complicit in. “Thank you Mr. Hux. My fellow MPs...Mr. Speaker...I’m here today on behalf of the citizens of Alberta who, for the last five years, have been struggling through one of the worst economic recessions in recent history.”

Scanning the faces across the aisle, she catches Rose’s eye and raises her eyebrows. This throws a wrench into things. They were hoping to lob their statements and environmental impact questions at Hux, an unquestionably slimy bastard, not Finn, their quasti-informant slash ally who’s currently drumming up sympathy for oil patch executives who have been forced to sell their second vacation home. Sure, they could wait it out, steer things back to the nuts and bolts of the proposal, but they have early adjournment on Friday and people are already looking unsettled and bored in their seats. 

She focuses back on Finn who, to his credit, is speaking very passionately about the unemployment rates in Calgary. Her eyes glaze over a bit, and when she shakes her head to clear them, she ends up staring right at Ben. 

He’s _ laughing _ at her.

Perhaps laughing is too generous a term. His lips are thinned against each other and his cheeks are drawn up in a way that’s not hostile enough to be a grimace. His eyes flick to Finn then back at her, and he quirks an eyebrow.

_ Oh god. _ He knows. He knows they have some sort of thing with Finn, some sort of soft spot or alliance. _ Of course he knows _ , a chastising voice in the back of her mind screams. _ He’s the Whip. It’s his job to know everything about everyone in his party _. But then why hasn’t he done anything about it? 

“–and I get why people are upset about it.” Finn clasps his hands, the very picture of sincerity. “But I’m here to tell you that there are people whose lives depend on this project’s success. There’s people who need these jobs so they can put food on the table for their kids. These aren’t rich oldfield executives, they’re dads, moms, grandparents, people who are depending on us to manage the economy with intelligence and compassion.”

Shit. Rey’s not convinced, of course, but she’s got to respect his public speaking skills. 

“–but here’s the crux: people are quick to bring up our country’s future when they slander the oil and gas sector. They’re quick to tell us to switch to renewable resources, to diversify our economy, but that sort of thing takes time and money that the people of Alberta don’t have. When they hear about this project, they’re thinking about the future, and who are we to deny them their future? Thank you, Mr. Speaker.”

Finn sits down to raucous applause from her side of the aisle, and tepid claps from the Opposition. Rey’s about to announce her response when Canady hefts himself up in his chair and announces, “We’re going to adjourn early today, to ensure the Prime Minister and his staff can make their flight.”

“Thank you Mr. Speaker.” Snoke, the wizened old prune, waves his hand in acknowledgement. “Mr. Iginla and I will be travelling across Alberta, announcing the pipeline proposal.”

“Great,” Rey mumbles under her breath, because if this country needs anything, it’s _ more _ western alienation. “Get ready for Wexit 2.0.”

“Oh stuff it.” Phasma wrinkles her nose. “Your lot act like nothing west of Thunder Bay matters.”

“I’m from BC!” Rey hisses back, but Phasma just pulls out her phone and starts up Pokemon Go.

Canady announces something about the proposal being tabled until next week, then the meeting adjourns. Rey stuffs her binder full of notes into her bag, fuming, as the Conservative MPs around her chat enthusiastically.

It isn’t fair. She feels lost and unsupported sitting over here in Dudebro land, surrounded by guys in blue suits scrolling through Tinder and god knows what else while she’s trying to concentrate. She looks across the room at Rose, chatting animatedly with Poe as Kay and C’ai laugh next to them. For the first time since she arrived in Ottawa, she misses Luke. 

“Excuse me? Rey?”

She turns, then looks down. “Oh! Ms., uh, Organa, I mean–”

“Leia is fine.” Leia Organa, leader of the Official Opposition, representative for Toronto-Danforth, and Ben’s _ mother _, gives her a soft smile and leans up against her desk. “I just wanted to come over here and ask you how you’re doing.”

“Fine,” Rey answers automatically, because everyone’s fine when asked, aren’t they? “A bit lonely, I guess.”

Leia nods. “Understandable. I know what it’s like, being a young woman in politics. You kind of feel like you have nothing in common with your peers, don’t you?”

“Especially sitting here.”

“Very much.” Leia’s laugh is raspy but warm. “I contacted your office but the line was busy.”

Rey winces. “Sorry, I need to hire staff and I– I don’t know how.”

“Also understandable. I figured I would see you here, so it’s no matter. Are you going to be in town Thanksgiving weekend?”

Holidays are...tricky for Rey. She has no immediate family, no family at _ all _ actually, so most of her holidays are usually spent with friends or alone on her couch with some ice cream and Netflix. “I’m not sure, honestly. Haven’t planned that far ahead.”

“Well if you’re in Ottawa, you’re more than welcome to come to dinner at Stornoway. Our chef makes an amazing smoked turkey, and the gravy is divine.”

“That sounds...really nice, actually.” Rey grins. “Thank you so much.”

“I’ll get my staff to contact your office with the details.” Leia reaches across the desk and pats Rey’s hand with her own. “It was nice to meet you Rey.”

“Likewise.”

Rey mulls on the invitation for the rest of the night, up until she boards her red eye flight back to Victoria. It would be nice to go to a big Thanksgiving dinner, but her political experience up to this point points to it being some sort of trap. Leia’s team must know about Finn’s insight, about Snoke’s plan to open up debate on all of the morality issues. Maybe this dinner is just an opportunity for Leia to ambush her an extort her for her vote? Stranger things have happened.

* * *

It’s strange to be back at the constituency office. Even though she’s only been gone a few weeks, Rey feels like a completely different person. Less naive, more wise to the workings of politics, but still completely unprepared for the mess that greets her. 

“Hey.”

Oh, and there’s also Luke. He’s munching on pumpkin seeds and scrolling through Facebook on the office computer when she arrives. 

“How did you get in here?” Rey tosses her bag on the ground and pulls up a chair so she can face him.

“Your landlord contacted me. Said he tried to send you the keys in the mail, but they were returned.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of between apartments here right now,” she grumbles. “But why you?”

Luke throws his hands in the air. “Why not me? The guy said you had no alternate contact, so he figured I would at least see you at some point. What, you’re hot happy to see me?”

“Believe it or not, I was actually starting to miss you,” she admits. “How have things been here?”

“Wet.”

She waits for a second, and when he doesn’t elaborate she continues. “Honestly, I was going to call you today anyways. I contacted the former MP and got the passwords for the constituency email, but I was wondering how you went about answering it.”

“I had an assistant.” He nods in her direction. “_ Had _ being the operative word.”

“Right. But I only categorized things and sent off basic responses. I need to know how to action things.”

He gives her a blank look. 

“You...you didn’t action anything?”

“I did stuff!” He turns back to the computer and starts emphatically clicking the mouse. “Especially at first. But Rey, the requests never stop. The constituents are constantly emailing with issues, and I was only one man, with finite resources.”

He beckons her over to his side of the desk so, resisting the urge to groan, she rolls her chair around to face the monitor. There he’s pulled up the constituency email inbox, and is slowly scrolling through all the messages. 

There’s _ hundreds _ of them.

“I’ve only been gone for two weeks,” she breathes, her eyes catching on words like _ playground _ and _ drug dealers _ and _ pipelines _ and _ water quality. _ “How can there be so much after only two weeks.”

“Like I said.” Luke rolls away from the computer, taking his bag of pumpkin seeds with him. “I had an assistant, but I could only do so much.”

** _Help with federal tax credits for international adoption._ **

** _Our school is too full? New school possible?_ **

** _Refugee family with 7 children needs help with rent._ **

Every email she opens is from someone with needs. Some are easy (a kid who wants to interview her for a school project) while some require a lot more time and money. Rey’s head is spinning with all of the requests, not to mention the communication from provincial and municipal leaders, asking questions about funding that she’s not able to answer yet.

It’s too much. She’s so engrossed that it’s dark by the time she looks up from her computer. Luke is long gone, leaving her in the musty office space, the only lights coming from the monitor and the flashing text notification on her phone.

Rubbing at her eyes, she grabs the phone and squints. 

<_flight ok?> _

It’s from Ben. 

She bites her lip, looks over at the hundreds of unanswered emails, and replies. 

<_cant complain> _  
<_btw_>  
_ <can we talk when im back?>  
_<_thnx_>


	5. to have you

Another drop of pumpkin plops onto the countertop, and Rey curses under her breath.

“You okay over there princess?”

She scowls at Poe, who is camped out at the dining room table with Finn and Rose. “Fine thanks. By the way Rose, what happened to no work at home?”

Rose has the dignity to look only mildly ashamed. “This is for the greater good. We can’t be seen meeting together, so our house is the best option. Finn’s apartment complex is swarming with Conservatives.”

Rey thinks back to Ben’s knowing stare. “Our kitchen isn’t the most secure place in the world.”

“Hey, I came in through the back,” Finn interjects. “This time.”

Rey sighs and turns back to her phone, where she’s pulled up a recipe for pumpkin pie. Sure, she could have bought a half decent one at Superstore for five bucks, but she figures Thanksgiving dinner with a seasoned respected politician is reason enough to brush off her meager baking skills. With an eye on the oven timer, she measures out the pumpkin puree, then adds brown sugar, fragrant cinnamon, dried ginger, a pinch of clove, freshly ground nutmeg, and a tiny bit of black pepper. Three eggs are added to the filling, then a full cup of heavy cream, which lightens the mix from a deep orange to a pale, rusty-tan.

The oven beeps. Pulling on her oven mitts, she retrieves her graham cracker crust from the rack and places it on the stovetop. Instantly, all three people previously seated at the table swarm around her, sniffing and prodding.

“Wow, that smells good!”

“Is that for us?”

She bats away Rose’s curious finger. “No! I told you already, it’s for dinner at Leia’s.”

“You’re going to Stornoway?” Finn pipes up. “That’s cool.”

“It is.” Rey slowly pours the filling into the prepared crust, watching as it falls in thick glossy ribbons. “It’s an honour.”

“So you’re going to be staying here for the entire holiday?” He snags a piece of the crust that’s fallen onto the counter and pops it into his mouth. “This is great, by the way.”

“Yeah. I, uh, don’t have family here.”

“That sucks.” 

It’s simple, but genuine, the true Gen Z sentiment of bereavement. “I don’t actually have family anywhere,” she continues.

“Fuck.” 

Another Gen Z sentiment, punctuated by a slow nod. Rey looks up at him and nods back, lips pursed. “So yeah, it’s no big loss for me to stay here. We’re closing the office for the holiday, so I’m not expected to work, and it might be nice to explore the city a bit with less crowds around.”

He gives her a wide smile, then heads back to the table, where Rose and Poe are already whispering about ‘voter blocks’ and ‘positive pressures’. On another day, she would be right in there with them, desperate to dismantle their current government, but she’s also hell bent on not screwing up this pie so, with a gentle hand, she scrapes the rest of the filling out of the bowl with a spatula and gives the shell a little shake.

Her phone buzzes. It’s from Ben.

<_hey_>  
<_you going home for the holiday?>  
_ _ <was thinking we could meet up and discuss your questions> _

Oh right. That. 

She texted him a few weeks ago, back when she was feeling overwhelmed with everything. Back when the only solution she could come up with was throwing hypothetical buckets of money at her constituents until their problems all disappeared. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, Snoke’s been mercilessly pounding the house with new proposed legislation, so much so that she’s barely had time to eat lunch, let alone organize a clandestine meeting to discuss potential bribe money. It’s given her some perspective, how her job will never have an endpoint as long as she’s in office, and how dedication to her ethics is the only way she’ll come out of this mentally unscathed. 

Still, she hasn’t texted Ben about her change of heart. Part of her still thinks of him as a contingency plan, for when she runs out of steam or he proposes something worth pledging her vote. Another part admits she may want some more free sushi, and still another part admits that she enjoys his persistence. 

After she safely stows her pie back in the oven, she grabs her phone and replies:

<_oh hi!_>  
_ <yeah im staying, but im suuuper busy>  
_<_thanks to your boss_>

_ <haha right> _

_ <honestly, who proposes three new bills on a holiday wknd?> _

The three dots indicating he’s typing pop up, then disappear, then pop up again.

_ <a sadist>  
_ _ <think i may have competition for monster of the year> _

_ <ru kidding?>  
_ _ <he makes you look like a saint> _

_ <im touched>  
_ _ <pretty sure that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me> _

Rey’s pretty sure it is too, which motivates her to terminate the conversation as soon as she can. The problem with communicating via text is that Ben comes off as a normal human instead of the morally conservative rig pig bro he truly is. He may disparage Snoke on his phone, but she knows that once the House is back in session, he’ll be there licking the Prime Minister’s boots along with the rest of his party.

_ <well have a fun holiday weekend> _

It’s abrupt, which is Gen Z code for ‘I want to end this conversation but I’m too nice to leave you on read’, but Ben (who she realizes is probably an Elder Millennial), takes it as an opening to transition the conversation to something less professional.

<_you too_>  
<_I’ll be around the capital for most of it_>  
<_if you’re not busy_>  
<_I know you said you’re busy, but if you find some time_>  
<_we could meet up to talk_>  
<_not even about the stuff with your vote_>  
<_just wondering how things are going with you_>  
_ <whether you’ve had luck with staff>  
_<_anyways_>

It’s sent stream of consciousness, each text sending her phone into a soft buzz one after the other. 

Rose perks up from the table. “God, who’s that?”

“Nobody,” Rey blurts, then winces. “I mean, it’s work stuff.”

“You said you’re not working this weekend.”

“I’m not. Maz is being super persistent.”

“Fuck.” 

Rose turns back to Finn and Poe, mumbling something about her staff respecting boundaries, and Rey looks back at her phone. Ben’s ended his side of the conversation _ very _ awkwardly, so much so that she feels like it’ll be a dick move if she leaves him hanging.

She shrugs.

So she does.

* * *

She bites her lip and clutches the pie tightly on her lap, wincing as the driver hits another pothole.

“Sorry about that,” he calls from the backseat. “Guess it’s one reason to look forward to the snow!”

Rey, who has lived with Vancouver Island amounts of snow for most of her life, doesn’t get the reference. “Sorry? How’s that?”

“The snow?” He laughs. “Right, from BC. Over here, the snow gets so thick it fills in the potholes. It’s like temporary road work.”

“God, that sounds terrible.” 

They pull up to Stornoway with the pie intact. On slightly shaky legs, Rey nods a thanks to the driver and heads up the little concrete steps and past the iron gate, pausing to inspect the neatly trimmed hedge that lines the yard. It’s not actually Leia’s house; it’s the traditional residence of the Leader of the Official Opposition, but it’s a position Leia’s held for long enough that the home is basically hers. She smooths her free hand down her tweed skirt then knocks on the door and is greeted by Leia herself, who opens the door with a smile.

“Rey. So happy you could join us. Please, come in.”

Leia takes her coat, spiriting it away to a closet as Rey looks around. The house itself is a lot more modern than she expected. Well, maybe _ modern _ is too generous a term; the creamy beige walls and excessive amounts of oak furniture make her feel like she’s been transported to the 1990s, not in a 1914 heritage home. 

“How long have you been living here?” she wonders.

“Almost five years now, off and on.” Leia smiles over her shoulder as she ushers Rey into a formal dining space. “To be honest, I prefer my townhouse in Toronto, while my husband Han likes staying at our house in Halifax.”

Rey is floored. Having never owned any property in her life, she can’t imagine having so much choice with her living arrangements. The house she shares with Rose isn’t luxurious by any means, but it’s a far cry from the various run down illegal suites she’s rented for the past three years, and definitely nicer than the couch she’s been sleeping on in her constituency office.

“Wow, that sounds really nice,” she comments, trying to be polite. “I’ve heard Halifax is quite beautiful.”

“Very much so. But probably not so impressive to someone who grew up on the Island.” Leia takes Rey’s pumpkin pie and places it down on a sturdy wooden sideboard that’s up against the wall. “Please, come into the sitting room and tell me all about it.”

There’s a rumble of conversation that increases in volume as they walk down the hall. “I have to admit I got one of my staff to do some sleuthing on you when you were elected. You are an astonishing young woman, Rey, to have come so far all on your own.”

Rey ducks her head. “Thanks, I–”

She’s about to give her typical response about the assistance she’s received from social workers and elders but the words die in her mouth when the enter the sitting room and she sees Luke, Ben Solo, and another man having a heated debate over a carved wooden coffee table.

“–so you’re saying that there’s _ no _ risk involved? At all?” Ben jabs a finger in Luke’s direction. “The science doesn’t add up, and you know it.”

“No, I’m _ saying _ that restricting it and policing it doesn’t do shit to actually protect people. It only serves to give the police justification to lock up underprivileged kids who turn to dealing to make ends meet. God Ben, stop putting words in my mouth.”

“You’re the one who is denying the fact that marijuana has been shown to trigger episodes in people who are predisposed to schizophrenia. Just because it’s natural doesn’t mean it’s harmless.”

The other man, who Rey presumes is Leia’s husband, holds up both hands. “Listen, I don’t know exactly what that means, but I do think that making weed legal was one of the only substantial things that Trudeau kid did. Seriously, it’s not like it was hard to get before.”

Ben snorts. “Yeah, Luke sure proved that.”

“Boys.” Leia’s raspy voice cuts through the argument like a hot knife through butter. “Please behave. We have a guest.”

Three heads turn, and two mouths frown in confusion while Leia’s husband stands, extends his hand, and gives her a crooked, megawatt smile. “Hi, I’m Han. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Rey.” She shakes his hand and smiles back. “MP for Esquimalt-Saanich-Sooke.”

“Oh!” His face lights up, and he turns to Luke. “_ This _ is Rey? Your Rey?”

Ben bristles and Luke rolls his eyes. “She’s not _ my _ Rey, especially not since she quit working for me, but yes...this is Rey. The one I’ve spoken about.”

“Well then.” Han turns back to her, a devilish glint in his eye. “Thanks for shaking things up a bit. Sometime ol’ Luke can get a bit stuck in his ways.”

“Dad, could you just–” Ben cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.

“Could I what? Not be polite to our guest? Sorry that I’m not sulking in my chair like you, come on! Be hospitable.”

Ben bristles. “This isn’t my house.”

“Han, Rey and Ben already know each other. From work.” Leia gives him a wry smile. 

“Ah, yes. Party politics all that.” He turns to Rey. “Is the kid being an ass to you? Don’t worry, you can say it.”

Rey flushes. “No he’s...fine.”

Ben suppresses a small chuckle into his hand, earning a narrow eyed glare from his uncle. Leia clears her throat. “If we’re all done here, dinner’s ready.”

Careful to avoid eye contact with both Luke and Ben, Rey walks back to the dining room where there’s a beautiful, picture perfect Thanksgiving spread on the table. Pausing to wince, Leia turns to her. “Rey, I’m afraid I neglected to ask about any dietary restrictions.”

“I don’t have any,” Rey assures her, taking a seat on one side of the table. “I try to limit my meat intake or choose ethically sourced when possible, but I’m not a vegan.”

Luke _ tsks _ at her comment. He sits down next to her, so she turns to him. “We’ve already discussed this. Just because soy and quinoa are plant based doesn’t mean they are intrinsically more ethical than humanely raised or hunted meat.”

He wrinkles his nose with disgust. “If you say so.”

They’ve argued about this a million times before, and every single instance has ended in one of his infamous tantrums. She shouldn’t take the bait; it’s _ Thanksgiving _ after all, but she hates feeling silenced and dismissed, especially by an old white man like Luke. “Saying a plant based diet is more acceptable and ethical than omnivorous is basically admitting that you consider the lives of animals as more important than the lives of harvesters and farmers in impoverished countries.”

From across the table, Ben lets out a low whistle. Luke, incensed, turns on her, eyes ablaze. “That’s a tired, false equivalence from someone who’s too spoiled and lazy to give anything up.”

“Spoiled?” Rey jabs a finger at herself. “Me? That’s rich coming from a whiny trust fund kid who ran his campaigns on his sister’s coattails and quit before his party could investigate him for ethics violations.”

The room falls silent. Han, seated next to his son, leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised to his hairline as Leia, at the head of the table, rubs at her brow. Luke pushes his chair back. “_ What _ did you say?”

She can tell she’s pushed him too far this time. “Nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Who told you that? Who–” He turns, furious anger now fixated on his nephew. “You said something. What have you told her?”

Ben shrugs, feigning ignorance as his dark eyes dance with amusement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“_ Sure _ you don’t. How long did it take for you to hunt her down and start whispering in her ear? A week? Maybe two?”

Ben’s nostrils flare and he stares, hyperfocused, at the basket of gold glitter dusted pine cone centrepiece. “I don’t need to justify my actions to you. And Rey doesn’t need your permission to talk to people.”

“Oh, so you’re on a first name basis?” Luke swings back to Rey.

“I–you know what, he’s right. So we’ve been talking. It’s allowed!” 

For a second, she feels like a weight has lifted off her chest, only to crash down a moment later as Luke’s eyes dart between her and Ben. “Oh. I see what’s happening here.”

“Luke…” Leia sounds tired, no doubt regretting the virtual powder keg of personalities she invited over for dinner. “Please, lets just eat.”

“Leia, I’m surprised you’re not saying anything!”

“Now is not the time.” She reaches across the table to pat his hand. “Please. We’re a family first.”

Now it’s Ben’s turn to push his chair back and scoff. “Don’t give me any of that bullshit. We’ve _ never _ been a family first, and you know it.”

“Oh, shut up Ben,” Luke spits. 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Geez, I’ve never heard _ that _ before…”

Rey digs her toes into the rug, wishing with every fiber of her being that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. “Isn’t it time to eat?” she asks in a soft voice that’s barely audible above the masculine posturing around her. “The turkey will get cold.”

“Yes, we should eat.” Ben digs his fingers into the armrest of his chair and looks around wildly. “Mother, shouldn’t we–”

“Why are you so eager to have her eat?” Luke laughs. “Shouldn’t she be saving some room so she can swallow your dick later?”

Blood roars in Rey’s ears, and she opens her mouth to respond, but Ben’s already launched himself out of his chair, clenched fists hammered onto the table. “Shut your _ FUCKING _ mouth!” he roars, his normally pale skin blotchy and flushed. “She’s never– we...not that it’s any of your _ fucking _ business.”

Han shakes his head. “Seriously Luke? At the table?”

Leia’s got her face her hands and Ben– Ben looks ready to tear Luke apart with his bare hands, which is neither legal nor conducive to a functional Thanksgiving dinner. Luke, to his credit, immediately backs down, slumpinging into his chair. “Sorry, sorry, that was uncalled for. Rey, I’m sorry I insinuated that–”

“Fuck this.” Ben turns and stomps out of the kitchen, his shaggy black hair bouncing with the force of his steps. Leia calls out a half-hearted, “Ben, no wait–” but then Luke throws his hands in the air.

“This always happens with him. Can’t take him any–”

“Oh Luke, stop it! You baited him, and on Thanksgiving no less.”

He grumbles, sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed, but already there’s a softening of his features, remorse creeping in now that the tension’s been cut. Rey stands up. “I’ll...go make sure he’s okay,” she mumbles. “Save me some turkey?”

“Of course dear.” Leia makes no move to dissuade her, so Rey leaves the dining room, on the hunt for wherever a conservative man-baby would lick his wounds. She finds him in a lovely glass walled sunroom, light streaming in from the white framed windows. He’s slouched on a squishy looking rattan sofa, deep in thought, and closes his eyes when she enters, closing the door behind her.

“Go away.”

Rey scoffs. “How about no. Come on, dinner’s getting cold and I’m starving.”

“I...I just need a bit.”

“Fine.” She sits on the rattan armchair next to him and picks at a decorative cushion. It’s covered in embroidered flowers, sun faded and slightly threadbare with age. “The decor here is abominable, by the way.”

“She’s not really allowed to redecorate,” he mumbles. “Since the house technically belongs to the citizens of Canada or whatever.”

“Ah.”

“Her actual houses are a lot nicer,” he says with a hint of petulance, like a child on the receiving end of a playground ‘your mom’ joke. “The one in Halifax especially. Not too formal, but very tastefully decorated.”

“I believe you.”

She tilts her head, studying him as he sulks. He looks younger, dressed casually in navy slacks and a sky blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His brow is furrowed and mouth is still twisted with annoyance, and he’s chewing his lip as if he’s tempted to say something but is choosing not to. 

He’s...intriguing, for sure. Rey’s self aware enough to know that she’s been attracted to him since the Tim Hortons incident, though his politics and behaviour have clouded that since. With a heavy sigh, she looks around the room, unable to resist the urge to fill the silence. “This room is nice at least. The architecture.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” His mouth twists again, into something that looks a bit like a smile.

She closes her eyes, allowing the scents of old wood and Thanksgiving dinner wash over her. Luke’s outburst wasn’t completely foreign to her, unfortunately. Throughout her time working with him, she found him to be a very emotional man, quick to outbursts but also quick to make amends. His comments had never been _ quite _ so biting, but she’s also never seen him with his family before. 

“Thanks...for before,” she breathes. “Not that I needed you to defend my womanly honour or anything.”

“I know.” He’s back to frowning again. “I didn’t think that you needed it, I just…” He sighs, and turns to her. “My mother became involved in politics when she was sixteen, before she could even vote. She’s been in this my entire life, so I know how ruthless men can be. How they can say cruel things that they would never say about another man. You shouldn’t have to hear that.”

“Thank you,” she responds automatically. 

“As far as what I said before at the sushi restaurant. About what would convince me to change my vote.” He pauses to clear his throat. “What I _ implied _, that is…”

She stares down at her lap, at the way her black tights peek out from under the hem of her skirt. “You didn’t say anything outright inappropriate.”

“And I didn’t mean it that way either.”

“Oh?” Rey flashes him a smile. “So you _ don’t _ want to fuck me?”

He’s silent, biting the inside of his cheek as he reaches for another patterned throw pillow and starts playing with its tasseled edge. “I don’t think there’s any way for me to answer that question that will be well received.”

It’s another _ West Wing _ moment. No, more like a _ House of Cards _moment; Ben as the squirming, compromised politician with Rey as his whip smart, ingenue counterpart. “Don’t worry about the reception,” she assures him. Folding her hands in her lap, she fixes him with a neutral expression and raises an eyebrow. “Tell me the truth.”

He groans. “Just forget it. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.” 

“Then why do you assume I’ll think it’s stupid?” She leans back against the chair. “Try me.”

“Fine. What I meant that night was that I– if I were ever in a relationship with someone, an _ actual _ relationship, and we had differing political views, I would maybe be convinced to change my vote if my partner asked me to. Out of…” He shrugs. “...I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

It’s not that she can’t deduce the implications, but it all seems too soft and sentimental for someone like Ben. He seems to think the same; he stares at her a moment, dark eyes slightly glassy before looking away. “Nothing. I guess.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she presses. “What does that have to do with me?”

His shoulders tense. “You want me to say it? Fine. I– I _ like _you. A lot. I know I said you’re cute, but it’s a bit more than that, and yeah, I guess I kind of thought we could be good together. My brain sometimes runs away with that sort of stuff.”

“And if we were together...you would change your politics for me?”

He looks at her, _ really _ looks at her, and she feels her chest clench. “Rey, I would change almost anything to have you.”

She should have stopped there. It’s been several years since she’s been to a sex ed class, but she remembers relationship warning signs as clear as if it were yesterday: possessiveness, aggression, making promises they can’t keep. Still, that doesn’t stop her from standing up to join him on the couch, from placing her hand on his shoulder and brushing her lips against his ear. It doesn’t stop her from whispering, in her most heady, breathless voice, _ “show me.” _

So when his lips crash against hers and his fingers thread into her hair, she’s not thinking about the long term ramifications of...whatever this is. All she wants, all she _ feels _ is the power of attraction flowing through her veins, the power to pull this man in and feel him against her, a balm for the sticky loneliness that’s infected her heart. She yanks at his dress shirt and imagines Snoke’s face when he loses his Whip, when Ben crosses the floor (metaphorically) and joins her in her crusade against everything that’s poisoning the Earth. 

The way he kisses reminds her of the way he speaks; strong, impulsive, and firey. He licks his way into her mouth with just the right amount of tongue, tempered by tiny moans of pleasure that rumble up from his chest. Rey grips his neck as he maneuvers them around on the sofa so she’s in between his open legs, his large hands pressing her hips to his so he can grind up against her. He’s warm and _ hard _and deliciously solid. 

Ben groans into her mouth and runs his hands down her back, palming the waistband of her skirt. “Are we– can I?” he mumbles against her lips. “I don’t have–”

Rey didn’t imagine that Thanksgiving dinner would amount to her dry humping Leia’s son in a very conservatively decorated sunroom, much less any sort of actual sexual intercourse. She’s not on hormonal birth control for a host of reasons that she doesn’t want to have to explain right now, so she pulls herself away enough to breathe, “I don’t...either.”

“Are you not–?” There’s a hint of a whine in the way his voice trails off. “I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to–”

“It’s not that I don’t.” And _ god _, isn’t that the truth. She feels like his hands are turning her insides to butter, his thumb still rubbing circles against her hip bone. “I just...we need to be safe. And it’s your mother’s house!”

“Right.” His thumb retreats, and she wants to whimper at the loss of sensation. “Right, you’re right. This is crazy, we need to–_ mmph _!”

Now it’s her turn to launch herself at him. There’s stiff cotton and buttery soft leather at her fingertips as she works his belt buckle open and stuffs her hand into his pants without any preamble. He gasps, pushing himself up against the sofa so he can press his chest to hers, his own fingers diving under her hemline to shove her tights down to the bottom of her thighs.

Now is not the time for her to explain that she’s never liked handjobs. Giving or receiving, but the latter especially. The pressure’s never right, her clit is always either too dry or way too slippery to feel good, and fingering is especially tedious, but his cock is so nice in her fingers, and the sounds he’s making are unlike anything she’s heard from her partners before, so she sucks it up and instructs, “Inside please, you don’t have to worry about--_ oh! _”

His fingers are _ huge _ , and the way he’s stroking just the one inside of her makes her realize that the act of fingering itself hasn’t been the problem. No, the blame appears to lie solely with her previous partners because whatever this is is transcendent. She moans against him as her hips grind on his hand like it’s a toy. “M-more,” she pleads. “So good, _ please _ more.”

Then he adds another finger and _ that’s it _ . She’s never felt this way without external stimulation before. Hell, she’s never felt this way before _ period _ . He’s thick and hot in her hand, rutting up against her as his fingers expertly curl in her cunt. It feels like she’s being torn apart in the most pleasurable way possible, like he’s peeled back her skin so he can thrum directly against her nerves. Her climax is building in waves, but it’s different than normal; so, _ so _ full, and uncontrollable, like she’s right on the brink of overflowing. 

“Oh fuck,” she gasps against his cheek. “Oh _ fuck _ Ben, I’m gonna–”

He whines against her, crooking his fingers and stroking firmly as her thighs begin to shake. “Just let go baby, just do it_ for me _, just let go.”

“N-nooo.” She feels like she’s drowning, or drunk, or a combination of both, liquid pleasure sloshing inside of her. “No, I’m gonna….I’m gonna….”

“Let go.”

So she does. Her orgasm shakes her to the core, her hand clenching his cock as she feels all of her pent up stress and tension flood out of her in a gush of fluid trickling down his fingers. 

“Oh _ fuck _ ,” he gasps. His eyes go wide and mouth falls open. “You just– fuck, _ fuck. _”

Rey groans, her body twitching as another burst of liquid is coaxed out of her by his clever fingers.Then he’s coming too, hot and thick over her knuckles and wrist, dripping lazily onto the rattan sofa and ugly embroidered throw pillow. “Rey,” he slurs into her hair. “Rey, _ Rey _, so good–”

“I’ve n-never–” she pants, open mouthed, into his dress shirt. “I’ve never done that before.”

“No shit.” His nose burrows into the waves of her hair, huffing in her scent. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“_ Ben? _”

Rey swears her heart stops when she hears Leia’s voice trailing down the hall, the soft sluff of slippered feet padding closer to the sunroom. With a gurgle of surprise, she pulls away, waving her hands in the air because there’s semen on her fingers, and her tights and Ben’s right hand are drenched. “Oh god,” she hisses. “It’s your–”

“Yeah, yeah I heard her too.” He reaches behind himself to wipe his hand on the back of his pants, then tugs them back up and fumbles with his belt. 

Rey, in a moment of panic, brings her hand to her mouth and licks all of his cum from her fingers and wrist, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the cool, slightly snotty texture. She’s just able to pull up her own tights and skirt when the door opens and Leia walks in, a gust of gently spiced air wafting up behind her. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks, her eyes flitting from Ben to Rey, then back. “Luke’s promised to behave, and the turkey’s getting cold.”

Ben coughs. “Yeah, I– I’m better now. Thanks.”

She turns to Rey. “And how are you doing, dear?”

Rey’s eyes go wide, catching Ben’s hooded stare. She takes in a deep breath, swallowing the load of cool cum in the mouth before she answers. “I should be fine. As long as there’s food!”

Leia laughs and heads back to the dining room. Rey turns to follow, then feels Ben’s fingers catch against hers. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For...everything.”

Buttery mashed potatoes and turkey drenched in gravy is the perfect balm for her nervous stomach. Rey eats her meal with uncharacteristic delicacy, sure to have a small bite in her mouth or on her hand at every moment to avoid having to contribute to the tense conversation between father and son, husband and wife. To his credit, Luke doesn’t say much; he patted her shoulder and gave her a whispered apology when she rejoined the table, which she accepted with a small nod. Now he seems content to pick at the assortment of roasted beets, offering only a quiet ‘yeah’ or shrug when prompted.

Thankfully, her pumpkin pie is delicious. The filling is dense and richly spiced, contrasting with the toasty light crust and rich, freshly whipped cream. Han is excessive with his words of praise, as is Leia, while Ben wryly scrapes his plate with his fork until it’s practically clean. Once supper is finished, Leia herds them back into the sitting room and offers a hot toddy nightcap, which both Ben and Rey decline.

“I’ve got to get back home,” she says. “I have a ton of work over the weekend. Still haven’t gotten to hiring any staff.”

“Same here.” Ben adds. “Not the staff part. But there’s things in the works...you know.”

“I know you can’t say anything, and that’s fine I guess. I’m not going to tell you about any of my nefarious, world-eating schemes either.” Leia smiles at him, her dark eyes twinkling. “Thank you for finally coming over.”

She walks both of them to the entryway and retrieves their coats from the closet. “Have you called your drivers?” she asks, folding her hands in front of her as they bundle up.

“I was just–” Rey pulls out her phone, but Ben interrupts.

“We can carpool, if you prefer. I texted for him a few minutes ago and he should be here soon.”

Her eyes flick over to Leia, who at the moment seems very engrossed in an abstract painting of a wheat field on the wall. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I figured, it was the least I could do. To offset for all of the pipelines we’re putting through.”

At this, Leia snorts. “Have a good night, kids.”

She walks back to the parlour, leaving both of them to stare awkwardly at each other. “I...thank you for earlier,” Ben breathes. 

“Yeah, you said that.”

“Well, I meant it. Mean it. That was–”

“–_ messy _,” she finishes. She smiles.

He bites his lip and lets out a little sigh. “Yes. It was.” 

There’s a rolling flash of light just visible past the gate, signalling the arrival of his driver. Ben turns to her. “So, you want a ride?”

His face is soft, his eyes wide and hopeful. Really, it wouldn’t change anything; he’s right, it’s a waste of resources to take two cars, especially if one’s already here.

“Sure.”

The backseat smells of pine air freshener and crisp autumn air. Shyly, Ben intertwines their fingers in the darkness, and mumbles. “I had a great time tonight.” She doesn’t know what to say in return, or what it all means. All she knows is the warm comfort of his hand in hers, the aching satisfaction between her legs, and the looming dread that everything’s about to get a lot more complicated. 


	6. no one will see

They shouldn’t be doing this. Even though it’s late at night and the only other person they’ve seen in the past ten minutes is a heavy-stepping, slow walking security guard, it’s still far too risky for what is quickly amounting to a potential heart attack and a definite mess on her fingers. Still, Rey can’t stop working her hand under his heavy wool peacoat, gripping his cock as she watches him fall apart. 

“You want it?” she breathes into the night air. “You want to come?”

“Yesssss,” he hisses. He’s bracing his weight on the stone archway, his hips twitching against her, his lips red and puffy and bitten. He’s barely keeping it together, so good and quiet for her, and she’s about to lean down and put him out of his misery when she hears a steady  _ clop...clop...clop... _ of boots against the floor.

“Shit.” He whimpers when she pulls her hand away. She smooths her hand down his coat then replaces her mittens, stepping to the side to regain a professional distance. 

The portrait of Pierre Trudeau stares knowingly down at them, his grey legs spread to the edges of the frame. “I bet he got some action here,” she comments. “Prime Minister for fifteen years...it’s almost guaranteed.”

“Probably.” Ben’s voice is thin and choked. “Can we–do you want to get out of here?” 

“Hmmm. It is getting late.” She makes a show of checking her phone. “I should probably get home.”

She loves teasing him. It’s probably one of her top five favourite activities. The way his cheeks flush and his eyes go wide fills her with a warm mix of power and affection. It’s confusing, this whirlwind rivals with benefits arrangement that’s blossomed since Thanksgiving, but if nothing else she’s come out of it with an encyclopedia knowledge of Ben’s tells, and right now he’s itching to steal her away and finish what they’ve started. 

“My office is in East Block,” she mentions, casually. 

“That’s so far.” It’s not really. Less than a five minute walk, but it’s cold outside and he seems reluctant to crave it. “Mine is down the hall.”

“I know.”

They wait for the security guard’s rhythmic footsteps retreating down the hall. Once they’re sure he’s gone, Ben grabs her hand and tugs her down the hall and around the corner. He pulls an ornate key from his pocket, jingles it in the lock, then they both duck into the pitch black office as he shuts the door behind them. 

His lips are on hers. There’s the rub of wool against polyester as they scramble out of their coats, fingers fumbling for snaps and zippers and buttons. Rey pants against him, the back of her legs hitting his desk, craning her neck to reach his mouth while he hunches over and tugs her blouse from the waistband of her thrifted dress pants. It’s been like this for the past few weeks, sessions in the House by day with fumbled orgasms and stolen kisses at night, and she can’t seem to get enough of it.

Not that Ben can get enough of her either. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can make out the way he’s staring at her lips with disbelief, as if he’s shocked that she’s letting him kiss her even though it’s far from the first time. It makes her heart feel unexpectedly soft, makes her pause her frantic undressing of him to run her fingers against the shell of his ear to watch him shiver. 

They don’t have a condom, for various reasons. Rey thinks they’re wasteful, plus she’s allergic to latex and hates the way they smell, so they’ve resorted to other ways of stimulation...as well as other places.

_ “You can’t come inside me,” she panted against him. “The pill makes me crazy and I’m allergic to condoms." _

_ “I can’t come inside your cunt,” he grunted in return. “That’s not the only way to get inside of you.” _

She muses on that as he sticks two of his thick fingers in his mouth then snakes them into her underwear, rubbing against her clit while she licks her way across his chest. He’s as generous as he is adventurous with his lovemaking, making her feel things that she’s never felt before without the aid of a vibrator, and there have been multiple times where he’s licked her raw and pink without asking for anything in return. It’s strange; something Rey tries not to overthink in the aftermath. Maybe he’s just one of those people who is really,  _ really _ into seeing their partner orgasm.

“Where do you want me?” he rumbles into her hair.

“Where do you wanna be?” she counters.

He laughs, brushing his lips against her hairline. “I’ll take anything, but I didn’t bring lube so our options are limited. Unless you have some free trade, gluten free, water based stuff hiding in your coat.”

“Unfortunately no, but I–” She bites her lip as his fingertips swirl lower, stroking the sticky lips of her cunt. “A-are you still close?”

“Sort of. Yeah, I think so.” Another swirl of his fingers. “I can get there pretty quickly.”

“Good, then I- _ ahh _ .” She whimpers into his shirt as he runs his finger just a touch lower, past her pussy to graze the sensitive opening of her ass. “I think– I think I can come up with something, but please, please keep touching me there Ben,  _ please _ .”

His finger stills, and she whimpers. “What do you need?”

She muffles a groan into his chest. “Please, keep going. Keep touching me...there.”

Even in the low light, she can see his lips curl into a lazy grin. “Oh, you’re going to have to be more specific than that,” he coos, pulling his hand away to give one of her asscheeks a squeeze. “Tell me what you need.  _ Say it _ .”

“M-my ass,” she whispers. 

“Hmmm? What about it?”

“B-ben.” Dizzy with need, she grabs his wrist and tries to force his fingers back to where she needs them. “Ben,  _ please. _ ”

“Ah ah,” he chides. “I need you to use your words.”

She hates it. She hates how his playful stubbornness makes her ache and drip and  _ want _ him so much more. “I need you to finger my ass, you annoying prick.”

He lets out a triumphant laugh. Slowly, the back of his index finger parts her folds, collecting the moisture there before he slicks her ass and gently probes her open. Rey’s breath catches in her throat, her fingers shaking as she yanks down his pants and tugs his cock out of his overpriced black boxers. “I-I think I’m wet enough to–” She rubs herself up against him so he gets the idea. 

“Hmm.” He’s clinically precise in the way he eases his long, thick finger into her, a scant millimetre at a time to allow her to adjust. It’s not ideal; her juices were wet, but not  _ lube _ wet, however his patience and gentleness more than make up for it. She adjusts herself so she’s pressed up against him as close as she can get, then she slips her hand between them so she can angle his cock to thrust between her thighs. 

It’s unknown and kind of strange, but also wet and tight and weirdly hot. Ben ruts up against her while delving his finger into her from behind, making soft  _ huff _ s into the top of her head as she surrenders to his movements. His dick drags just so against her clit while, through some form of Conservative bro-magic, his finger prods her g-spot through the wall of her ass. It shouldn’t work, yet it does, and all she can do is hold on to his shoulders as a progressively louder stream of expletives tumbles from her lips. 

“H-holy shit,” she breathes, “H-holy  _ shit _ .”

“Are you gonna come?” He angles his hips up, putting even more pressure on her clit. “Are you gonna come for me Rey?"

“Y-yes,  _ huh _ , yes, yes I am, yes, yesyes _ yes _ –”

Her breath catches as she comes, her fingers scrambling against the fabric of his coat to hold herself up as waves of pleasure slam into her. She feels a shriek bubbling up in her throat, so she lurches forward to bite into the wool as Ben’s chest tightens. He grunts, then slurs a lazy  _ so good _ into her hair as a spray of wet warmth dribbles down the back of Rey’s legs. 

There’s a pleasant burn as he pulls out of her ass, then fumbles around behind her for something on the desktop. “Hand sanitizer,” he explains, destroying the mood with the mundane practicalities of covert office anal play. Rey nods. There’s a box of Kleenex pressing into her back, so she grabs a handful to wipe up the mess on her legs, then reaches down to pull up her pants as the scent of alcohol and cucumber fragrance fills the air. 

“You didn’t....this time,” he stammers. 

Oh.  _ That _ . God, ever since their first encounter in Leia’s sunroom, he’s been absolutely obsessed with making her squirt again. “I told you, it was a fluke,” she insists, as she grabs some hand sanitizer for herself. “I’d never done it before.” The sanitizer is cold in her hand and begins to liquify the second it touches her skin. She scoops it up, rubbing it into her fingers and nails as she watches him.

“Hm.” He sighs as he finishes cleaning himself up, his body throwing bold shadows against the door, illuminated by the blinking LEDs in his computer. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

“True, but it’ll have to be another time. Rose is probably waiting for me back home, and I should probably let my driver relax for the night.”

“They’re paid for it.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to be an asshole about it.” Her hands are too dry now, the skin catching against itself. “Oof. Do you have any lotion?”

He passes her a small tube that smells of whipped cream and makes her hands feel as soft as silk. She contemplates asking for the brand, but it’s probably something expensive and pretentious and environmentally unfriendly, so she settles with covertly sniffing her hands while she watches him press his ear to the door. 

“We’re in the clear,” he whispers. He opens it, flooding the room in low light, then stands aside so she can walk through. “Have you called your driver yet?”

“Mmmm no. I’ll do that now.”

“Or we could share a car. I could take you back to your place too, you wouldn’t have to come back to mine.” The words tumble out of his mouth.

“That’s not a good idea. Rose is waiting for me,” she counters, knowing full well she’s already mentioned it.

“Right.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets as they walk down the hall. Together, they nod at the security guards stationed at the door, then beep out of the building and loiter in the courtyard. 

Rey texts her driver, her newly moisturized hands stinging in the November air. There’s a modest dusting of snow across the grounds with more falling in a soft sprinkle, making everything look like it’s covered in a layer of crisp sugar. She looks over at Ben. He’s examining the trees, but every so often his eyes flick towards her. Outside, swathed in his black coat, he looks more like the cutthroat Conservative Whip she faces during the week, and it’s hard to reconcile him with the giving lover who was knuckles deep in her ass a few minutes ago. 

In another life, maybe, they could be good to each other.  _ For _ each other, but in this one she just watches him retreat into the back seat of his car without even a wave goodnight. 

* * *

The holiday season looms heavy in Ottawa. Snow falls heavy like a down blanket as politicians and staffers work day and night to read and report, research and present, desperate to end the year with something of substance. Something, essentially, to justify their salary and the faith of their constituents. For the Conservative Party, that something is Bill C-1,  _ The Act to Ensure Equitable Immigration _ , aka racist garbage tied up in a pretty bow. The government has been churning over the bill since the last election, and the pressure’s on for them to pass it, at least to appease their most xenophobic voter base.

Rey takes a sip of spiced apple cider from her thermos, jotting down notes as Mitaka, Snoke’s current Minister of Immigration, dithers on about the new eligibility algorithm they’ve come up with, which very blatantly favours rich individuals from European countries. There’s no other explanation for why fluency in German scores so high when Mandarin, Arabic, and Tagalog (to name a few) are more widely spoken in Canada, and would therefore be more useful. Unfortunately, the Conservatives are unwilling to bend to reason, and keep pushing the bill forward with barely enough amendments to keep it moving. 

Canady adjourns the day at a polite 5:30PM, enough time for her to swing over to the library before it closes. She’s attempting to have some work-life balance so, on the suggestion of her new staff member Bernice, she’s put a few frothy YA romances on hold. They promise to be quick reads, and are mind numbing enough to lull her to sleep without giving her brain a chance to hyperfixate on legislation so, with a quick wave to Rose and Poe, she pulls on her coat and leaves.

She’s halfway through her five minute walk when she gets the prickling sensation that someone is following her. Holding her breath, she stops in front of the Starbucks at the corner and pulls out her phone, then pretends to scroll until a familiar face ducks into the alcove next to her.

“Ben?” With a grunt, she shoves her phone back into her pocket. “Why are you following me?”

“Why do  _ you _ think I'm following you?” He punctuates his question with a wry grin.

“Well, I assume you’re going to pick up some library books, because that’s what I’m doing,” she responds, primly. “Then I’m heading straight home after.”

She pushes off from the wall and resumes her walk at a steady pace. Ben, with his long legs, easily keeps up with her. “That sounds nice,” he comments. “It’s been a while since I’ve done some light reading. I was looking for a way to occupy myself for the holidays.”

How he manages to make a word like  _ occupy _ sound dirty is a mystery to her. Rey bites her tongue and finishes the short trek in silence, then turns to him as they approach the library doors. “Seriously, I’m here to get books and nothing else. If you think I’m going to get on my knees and blow you in the stacks, you’re going to be disappointed.”

She ignores the frisson of pleasure that courses through her at that image, and tries to frown as convincingly as possible. 

Ben is unconvinced. 

So unconvinced, as a matter of fact, that he manages to convince her to check out the library’s vast collection of local newspapers, tucked away in a semi-private room flanked by frosted glass windows. He grins when he sees that the clerk’s desk is empty. “Well, this is cozy.”

Rey makes a show of scanning the shelves full of coloured binders. “Hmm.”

Finger by finger, he tugs off his black leather gloves and tosses them onto the cluttered desktop. Next, he pulls off his toque, running his fingers through his hair to ensure it is artfully mussed. “Not a soul in sight. No one to spy on us.”

“Did you know they have a collection of high school yearbooks here?” she wonders. Her voice quavers a bit; no doubt he immediately picks up on it. “Just in case people want to come here and reminisce.”

“Convenient.” 

She feels his warmth behind her, caging her in with plenty of opportunity to escape. “We can’t,” she breathes. “If someone sees, the scandal will be–”

“ _ No one will see _ .” He must be hunched a bit because he’s low enough that his breath tickles her neck. “I’ll watch for anyone, I promise.”

“But there must be cameras.”

“None here. I checked.” A warm hand trails down her back, then settles in the jut of her hip and squeezes. “I promise I’ll watch. I have just as much to lose from getting caught as you...more, even.”

She can’t argue with that. More importantly, she can’t deny the burning thrum of need that’s been gnawing at her since she so quickly shut down the idea of sucking him off. There’s something so primal and naughty about it, a common schoolboy fantasy, and if he’s right, if this area of the library is unwatched and deserted, then there’s no time like the present to make that fantasy come to life. 

“You promise?”

Ben groans, deep and throaty. “You mean–?”

She turns around to face him. His eyes look black, his mouth slightly open and lips pouted with a look of awe. “Doesn’t seem like you’re going to shut up about it,” she teases. Her fingers travel down the front of his shirt, her nails catching on every button on the way. “Now get your ass over to the door before I change my mind.”

It’s all a bit more exposed than she’s comfortable but, once he’s situated up against one of the windows next to the room’s entrance, she’s able to get a bit of privacy by squeezing herself up against the stacks. With his eye trained out the door, he fumbles with his belt, unlatching it enough that Rey’s able to yank down his pants and get to work on his underwear. They’re black (again) and quickly join the rest around his ankles then, without warning, she closes her mouth around the head of his semi-hard cock. 

“Fu-uck,” he gasps. His eyes immediately flutter closed.

She pulls off. “Hey! You’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“S-sorry,” he stutters, prying his eyes back open. “You’re just...really good.”

She snorts. “I’ve barely started.”

Rey is nothing if not completely realistic about her blowjob skills. On a good day, she  _ might _ be able to swallow down a small to medium sized dick, if she’s well hydrated and able to relax, but a dick like Ben’s? Thick and long and pleasantly throbbing, surrounded by moisture sucking books to boot? There’s no  _ way _ she’ll be able to deepthroat him without gagging horrifically and most likely alerting every librarian in a hundred-metre radius. 

No, for this job she needs to bring out another set of tools. 

She pumps his shaft as she runs her tongue up his length, trailing around and under the head until he squirms above her. Next, she runs her tongue lower, back down the prominent vein there, then spends some time sucking and gently tugging on his balls. The smell and taste of him is almost overwhelming but not necessarily  _ bad,  _ just reminiscent of a long day crowded in a stuffy room with too many other bodies. She can’t blame him for that. 

Come to think of it, she kind of likes it? It’s like the scent of his cheek when she’s pressed up against him, or the musk of his neck after a long day. It’s just another addition to the cacophony of scents that make up Ben in her mind, and there’s something very comforting about knowing another person well enough to catalogue all of their idiosyncratic odours. 

Not that she  _ really _ knows him, she muses, trailing her tongue between his legs to tease the soft, hairless patch of skin there. She knows his politics, sure. Knows the way he takes his coffee (black, preferably not Timmies, but he’ll drink it in a pinch), knows his shoe size (13.5, he complained about the limited selection a few days ago while he was fingering her), knows the name of his family dog (Chewbacca, a chocolate brown Wheaten Terrier). She knows his family too, some of them more than others.

Oh God. Despite everything, she  _ does _ know him. A lot. Her right hand resumes pumping as she sucks on the index and middle finger of her left, her brow furrowed in thought. They’re not...in a relationship or anything. Right? Because this was only ever meant to be a way to blow off steam, a way to take control of her bodily urges and harness them into pleasure and release. But as she takes a spit-lubed finger and uses it to tease his ass, she realizes that she  _ knows _ he likes getting his ass fingered because the sensations are overwhelming, so much so that they block out all of his anxiety about work and family life. He’s forced to relax into the grip of someone else, and it gives him the feeling of being taken care of, instead of having to be in control of everything all the time.

His breath hitches above her as she slips her finger in. “Ah,  _ ah _ , s-so good.”

“Eyes open,” she reminds him. She presses a kiss to the tip of his cock. “You’re doing great.”

His whole body spasms because  _ of course _ he has a praise kink, and of course she knew that. Because they know each other, her and Ben, as much as two political rivals can get to know each other through back alley rendezvous and late night texting. It’s  _ terrifying _ .

Ben chokes. “Someone’s... _ ngh... _ someone’s coming this way. Rey, s-someone’s–”

_ There _ . She rubs against that rounded bundle of nerves a few centimetres in his ass, then crooks her finger just so as she does her best to swallow him down, and he hisses, his hands gripping her hair as his semen spurts down the back of her throat. She pulls off as soon as he goes still, suppressing her cough in the sleeve of her jacket as he pulls his own long wool coat around himself just in time. 

There’s a second or two of silence, then a short, middle-aged woman with waist length brown hair and wire rimmed spectacles walks into the room, looks over the two of them, and takes her seat behind the desk. Rey coughs feebly, and the woman raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“A tickle...in my throat...do you...water?” Rey croaks. 

The woman sighs. “I’ll show you where the fountains are.”

Dutifully, Rey follows the woman out of the room, shooting Ben a devilish grin on the way. They’re almost at the bathrooms when her phone starts vibrating in multiple short bursts, indicating a call.

“I’ll just– sorry,” she apologizes, pulling it out as the older woman nods. 

“They’re just down the hall,” she says, then heads back the way they came.

Rey frowns down at her phone before she answers it. “Rose? Is everything okay?”

All she can hear on the other end is frantic sobs. Her heart lodges in her throat, and she quickly jogs into the bathroom and claims an empty stall. “Rose! Rose, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

More wails, louder and soul-shatteringly broken. Rey clutches her jacket closer, her mind racing with the possibilities. “Please, please just tell me you’re okay.”

“I _ -it’s Paige _ ,” Rose manages to choke out. “ _ She was crossing the street tonight at Douglas and Finlayson and...and…” _

She dissolves into sobs. Rey’s heart stutters. “W-what happened? Is she okay?”

_ “There was a drunk driver, and s-she… _ ” Rose takes in a deep breath.  _ “Rey...Paige is dead.” _


	7. pulling a trudeau

The evening passes in a blur of scribbled sticky note reminders, five minute sob sessions, and wrinkly clothes stuffed into Poe’s ratty hockey bag. Before she knows it, Rey is hugging Rose goodbye at the airport, after procuring a red-eye flight back to the airport that cost far more than either of them were expecting. She lingers at the departures bay, hugging herself as she watches the sun struggle to peek through the early morning clouds. Bright beams of light stream in through the windows, bathing everything in a wash of warm yellow and orange. Passers-by glower, shielding their eyes with their hands or early morning newspapers, but Rey stands still and stares straight into the glare.

She thinks of Paige. What she must have thought the moment before she was hit by that drunk driver. It’s kind of morbid, but Rey’s history and upbringing predisposes her to morbid thoughts and melancholia from time to time. She imagines Paige thought of Rose in those last seconds, probably imagined her beautiful smile and optimistic outlook. Maybe she had some regrets about her last words to her sister, or maybe she was able to pass in peace. 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. Rey frowns. It’s been buzzing all night, but she’s ignored it in favour of focusing on her roommate’s immediate needs. She pulls it out as she leaves the airport and gets into her waiting car then, once she’s in the warm coziness of the backseat, she opens the string of texts, all from Ben.

_ <hey, did you find some water?> _

_ <the woman came back...she’s looking at me funny> _

_ <did you get lost?> _

_ <u okay?> _

_ <hey, I’m going to wait here for another 5 mins but then I have to leave because the librarian doesn’t want me loitering> _

_ <k, im waiting in the nonfiction section> _

_ <rey, where are you?> _

_ <fuck> _

Rey chews on her thumbnail. She’s tempted to respond to him now, but decides to keep reading, to make sure she has the full picture. 

_ <if this is about what we did earlier...Im sorry if I pushed you too far> _

_ <and the stuff you did> _

_ <you don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to> _

_ <i mean it fet really good> _

_ <*felt> _

_ <but if it grosses you out, don’t worry about it> _

There’s a lull in his one-sided conversation, then about an hour later he continues.

_ <you’re my dream person, i thnik> _

_ <so smart and beautiful> _

_ <i could spend every day just listening to you, and I would die happy> _

Another half hour, and then:

_ <im not drunk I swear> _

She assumes he eventually made his way to bed at that point, because the next texts are from less than an hour ago.

_ <i just heard the news about tico> _

_ <that’s fucked up> _

_ <also ignore my freak out pls> _

Then the most recent message, the one that just alerted her:

_ <im sorry> _

She hums, weirdly touched even though the tragedy isn’t actually hers. It’s just nice, that someone would even care enough to show some sympathy at all. 

_ <thanks> _ _   
_ _ <its been a rough night> _

He responds immediately. 

_ <the day isn’t going to get any easier> _

_ <im sorry> _

Frowning at her phone, she wonders what he means by that, exactly. 

She continues wondering through her hastily prepared breakfast and morning commute. In fact, the wondering only ceases once she steps into the House of Commons and notices that every Conservative seat is occupied this morning.

Now to most, that wouldn’t seem unusual. After all, it’s an MP’s job to sit in the House when Parliament is in session. However, for those who make a point of observing the daily goings on in the House, it’s an entirely different story. MPs will skip out on days when there’s nothing going on, or they may elect to stay in their riding for a couple weeks if they’re not needed in the capital. Two of the Conservative MPs are chronically ill; one is currently undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer, and the other has persistent back pain due to a car accident. Both often stay home, but today they’re in their seats. The one on chemo has even brought what appears to be a puke bucket.

A wave of nausea washes over Rey with the sinking realization: Snoke is calling the vote today.  _ The _ vote, the one that determines whether his garbage immigration bill passes in the House, the one that promises to placate his racist voter base if it succeeds. He’s going to put it to a vote...and the NDP are down a seat.

_ Rose _ . Rey stalks over to her desk and throws her bag onto the floor with excessive force. Slowly, Phasma turns to her with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Fuck off,” Rey hisses. “You know damn well what’s going on right now.”

“Language.” The other woman pulls a tube of lip balm from her purse, and applies it with languid swipes. “God, it’s so dry in here.”

Rey doesn’t even dignify her with a response. Her skin is crawling with panic, her two morning coffees doing a number on her as she scans the other side of the House for Poe. He’s in his normal seat, arms crossed and engaged in a heated conversation with Leia and Amilyn Holdo, the MP for Toronto-St. Paul’s. Anger is etched all over his face. 

“This isn’t  _ fair _ ,” she breathes.

“Of course it’s not,” Phasma replies. She grins. “This is politics.”

The remaining debate on the bill is  _ heated _ , more so than normal. As the Speaker, Canady is tasked with moderating a deluge of questions from the Liberals and NDP, which Snoke and occasionally Mitaka answer with an air of disinterest. This current bill has been through several iterations; initially it was a bit more innocuous (though still horribly racist, in Rey’s opinion), which is why it managed to slide through the First and Second Reading but now, in its final form, the bill is truly horrendous.

“Section 4, line 47 refers to  _ acceptable cultural practices _ . Could you clarify what this refers to?”

“In Section 12, there’s a few paragraphs about capping the amount of children refugee parents can bring with them. How would this restriction be implemented?”

“Appendix B has a list of bonus languages that would give the prospective immigrant additional eligibility points. Who determined this list?”

Through all of it, Rey remains focused on Ben. Ben, whose job is was to drag a cancer patient and a chronically ill man out of their sickbeds and into the House. Ben, who most likely planned this vote with Snoke the moment they heard about Rose’s sister. Ben, whose ass she fingered in a public library last night, who came down her throat and gave her a soft, gooey smile right after. 

That Ben. She  _ hates  _ him.

His eyes flick over to meet hers, and she quickly looks away. 

No, that’s not quite true. She doesn’t hate him, but intensely irritated doesn’t have quite the venom she’s looking for, and peeved is too benign. 

(Really, the word she’s looking for is  _ betrayed _ , but that carries an emotional connotation she’s not ready to address.) 

The questions are still flying, but Snoke appears to have had enough. He holds up his hand and waits for Canady to call the room to order. Physically, Snoke is the epitome of Rey’s idea of Conservative: old, white, male, dressed in a navy blue suit with a blue and gold flecked tie, face weathered and pinched like he’s been sucking on a lemon all day. His voice is gravelly, but with none of the gravitas of Leia’s, instead, he sounds like he spends his days smoking expensive cigars and is about to keel over for want of one. 

“Honourable members, surely it’s time for us to make a decision on this?” He looks around the room, brandishing a craggy-toothed grin like a dagger. “Now, may I have your agreement to pass this bill, or do we have to take up a vote, like animals?”

Canady nods his head. “Mr. Snoke, are you making a motion?”

“Indeed. I move to–”

“BOO!”

Amilyn Holdo jumps to her feet, her violet curls waving around her face. “BOO!” she yells, emphatically. 

Emboldened, Poe jumps up as well, his yells joining hers, then C’ai, Dr. Kalonia, and an elderly man Rey recognizes from Luke’s time in Parliament, Wedge Antilles, who represents Vancouver-Kingsway. Soon, every member on the other side of the House is standing, and either actively booing or shaking their heads in solidarity.

“JUSTICE FOR ROSE!” yells Poe.

Snoke rolls his eyes and lazily tilts his head to the side. “Who?”

Fuck him. Rey jumps to her feet, her brain whirring with a thousand things she wants to scream at this putrid ballsack of a man. She’s aware of Phasma’s glare at her side, but all she feels is the compulsive need to defend her sweet, wonderful friend who has given so much and lost even more. Everything is jumbled, her mind still on Rose’s face this morning as she boarded her plane, so when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is, “Oh, SHUT UP YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

The House goes silent, then everyone erupts into buzzing whispers. Especially loud are the handful of reporters in the press gallery, who are no doubt scrambling to note down the most exciting thing that’s happened in the House of Commons in years. Blood thunders in Rey’s ears; sure, the House is often disorderly, but the use of profanity, especially towards another Member, crosses a definite line. As if by habit, she cranes her neck to seek out Ben.

“Order!” yells Canady. “ORDER!”

Poe and C’ai are laughing and clapping while Leia and Holdo have sat down, their faces drawn and grim. Ben is nowhere to be seen, having abandoned his regular seat behind Snoke to–  _ what _ , exactly? Fetch himself a toasted, unbuttered bagel? Practice his calligraphy? 

Canady is getting increasingly frustrated with ruckus, his face getting redder and redder until he grunts with frustration and calls out, “I am suspending this sitting for the next two hours. Honourable members,  _ please _ take this time to contain yourselves.”

Poe pumps his fist and flashes Rey a thumbs up. She doesn’t return it, deciding instead to slump back into her seat as every MP seated around her gives her a dirty look. It’s not like she planned this; it was impulsive and very unlike her, but she supposes it threw a small wrench into Snoke’s plan, if not one that will actually amount to anything.

A parliamentary page (one of the local students the government hires to fetch water and do small tasks) runs up to her desk and, very covertly, slides a folded scrap of paper towards Rey’s waiting hand. She frowns. “Uh, thanks?” but the page takes off without a word, leaving her to stare at the note like she’s in high school.

The paper is slightly damp. The sender mostly likely has clammy fingers. She wrinkles her nose at the thought and gingerly unfolds it.

** _Meet me at my office_ ** , it reads in perfect handwriting.

She sighs. She would send a note back, but the page has already disappeared, and she doesn’t want to raise a scene.  _ Too late for that _ , she muses. Poe is waving her over, a huge grin on his face, but she doesn’t want to deal with all of  _ that _ right now. She screwed up; even though what she said was right, she still screwed up and doesn’t want to pretend that it was a good thing. 

The thing is, she’s young. Still legally able to be an MP, but just barely, and that didn’t seem to matter to everyone who voted for her. They took a chance on her; young, relatively uneducated, a mouthy orphan from God-knows-where, and how did she repay them? By swearing, in the House of Commons, at the  _ Prime Minister _ . 

“I gotta go,” she mumbles to no one. Grabbing her bag, she heads out the main door, pointedly avoiding Poe, Leia, and anyone else who’s attempting to pull her attention. She’s fast enough that the press haven’t left the gallery yet, so she holds her breath and darts down the south hall, then quickly turns, slipping into Ben’s office and shutting the door behind her.

He’s waiting for her behind his desk. His face is...dark, grumpy, a mix of the two that’s far from welcoming. “You wanted to see me?” she asks. Her voice comes out smaller than she would like. It makes her feel weak.

“What were you  _ thinking _ ?” 

“I wasn’t, okay? It just came out.” With a huff, she sits in the chair opposite him, his heavy wooden desk between them like a wall. “But it’s true.”

“Doesn’t matter. It was unprofessional and unparliamentary. I’m surprised Canady didn’t kick you out.”

“Honestly, same. He probably wants to make me stew a bit as my punishment.”

Ben’s mouth twists, like he’s trying to think of the words to voice his next thought. “Why...why were you so upset? Were you not expecting this?”

Rey’s ears pop. Whether it’s from stress or something shifting in the room, she’s not sure, but it grounds her enough so she can confess, “I was surprised because I– I didn’t think you would ambush us with a vote like that, knowing what happened with Rose’s sister.”

He winces. “Rey, it’s my job.”

“I just, I don’t know.” She looks away, focusing on a generic painting of water lilies behind his desk. Humiliation prickles at her tear ducts. “I guess I just...assumed that since we were–: She bites her lip, unable to continue. 

“You thought I was going to stop doing my job? Because we’ve been fucking?”

She flinches. It sounds stupid and unbearably cruel coming from him. Throwing up her hands, she backs away from him until her back hits his closed office door. “I guess? Because you basically said you would, before all of this started.”

“I said I  _ might _ change my politics for someone I was in a relationship with,” he spits. “Not–” Suddenly he chokes, his voice dying in his throat with a little wheeze, as if he just realized something. “Wait, Rey,” he stammers. “Rey, I didn’t think we–”

It’s too late. Rey feels her veins flood with ice, a heavier wall falling between her and Ben as her mind automatically retreats back to her psychological safe space. Any hopes, any dreams that  _ this _ might actually be something, are left on the other side of the barrier, cut off from the rest of her brain. “I guess we’re not,” she says. There’s no quaver in her voice, nothing that could be perceived as a sign of weakness. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Rey, no wait–” He’s around his desk in an instant, his fingers reaching out for the edge of her blazer. “Please, don’t go.”

“Why?” She whirls on him, fists clenched, her face so angry that he’s shocked into taking a few steps back. “Why am I here, Ben? What are we doing here? Is this what you do all the time, talk stupid young MPs into sucking you off in public places, on the hope that they can reform the big, bad Conservative?”

“N-no, I–”

“Because I know I’m young and naive! I know it was stupid of me to trust you, but I did it anyway and now look at me.” There’s snot running out of her nose. With no dignified way to wipe it, she decides to attempt to sniff discreetly and only succeeds in making it run onto her upper lip. “Was it worth the clout?”

“Rey, stop.” 

“Don’t tell me to fucking stop. I’m  _ hurt _ , and you were the one who hurt me, so–”

“Just, no. Stop.” He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “God, I’ve been so stupid. Rey, I assumed that I was just a...a...I don’t know, a stress release for you? I didn’t know– I  _ swear  _ I’m not...I don’t do this often. Ever, really. I just...you’re a lot younger than me, and I assumed that this is how things are done now?”

She stares at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you calling me a slut?”

“What? No! No, what I’m saying is that it would totally be within your right to have... _ sex _ with whoever you want. You’re not a slut, I’m not saying you’re a slut.”

“That’s right I’m not, because I’m not having sex with anyone else. I haven’t even had sex with you. Penis in vagina sex, that is, not that it’s the be-all end-all, but that’s what it feels like sometimes.” She lets out a nervous laugh, and imagines a better timeline where Ben’s door would magically open by itself, sprout arms, and pull her out of his office. 

“I– _ god _ , I’m such an idiot.” Ben’s shoulders slump. “Honestly? This...whatever this is, sex or not-sex– this has meant a lot to me, and I kept telling myself to keep it casual so I wouldn’t scare you away, but I don’t...do casual. Very well.” He winces. “At all, really.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. But it’s fine if you’re casual; I didn’t specify that we needed to be exclusive.” 

“I’m not having sex with anyone else,” she clarifies. “Obviously.”

“Me neither.” He chews on his lip, then looks up at her. Nervously, he jams his hands into his pockets. “I have done it before...though not for a while, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Who’s the slut now?” She sighs. Her face feels weird and itchy from the dried snot and unshed tears she’s been preparing. “Sorry.”

“No, no, you shouldn’t be sorry at all. I’m the one who–” He stops himself, and gives a small chuckle. “This is such a fucking mess.”

Rey nods. “It is.”

“I-I should have been more open with you, about the vote thing. I can’t imagine how it made you feel, to be ambushed like that.”

“I mean, like you said, it’s your job.” She shrugs. “I shouldn’t have been surprised, really.”

His mouth curves into a crooked smile. “I like that you were surprised. It makes me feel a little better about myself.”

“Well it’s the last time that’s going to happen. Me being surprised. Now that you’ve completely confirmed that you’re a heartless bastard to the core.”

Rey crosses her legs then, mindful of varicose veins, uncrosses them. Vaguely, she’s aware that he might think she’s trying to seduce him, but really she’s just nervous. It’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like she’s been in his office for a thousand years, vacillating between anger and humiliation.

“What if I—“ Ben pauses. He rubs his hands together, frowns, and grabs the tube of lotion on his desk. ‘Philosophy Sweet Cream’, Rey notes for later as the scent of vanilla wafts through the air.

“What if you what?”

“What if I try and do it right this time?” He grimaces. “Us, I mean. Whatever this is between us.”

“Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend?” She hates the term, but also hates any synonyms for it, like ‘lover’ or ‘partner’.

“I guess you could say that. If you’ll have me, that is, since I’m apparently a heartless bastard to the core.” He shrugs, passing the hand cream across his desk. “I could be your heartless bastard.”

That. 

That fits.

And maybe it’s the fact that she’s young, and naïve, or maybe it’s because she’s hasn’t had any breakfast (truthfully it’s probably a mix of both, along with her stupid propensity to find the good in every person), but she doesn’t shut down the idea. Instead, she leans back in her chair and steeples her fingers together like she’s Mr. Burns from  _ The Simpsons.  _ “So, what would that look like?”

He tries not to smile. It’s a valiant effort, but she can read him like a book, from his quivering lip to his slightly glassy eyes. “Whatever you would want it to look like. We could continue  _ this _ .” He waves his hand around for emphasis. “Something casual and more... physical.”

“Or?”

“Or we could date. Have conversations. Go skating on the river. Things that people do when they’re in a relationship, allegedly.”

It sounds appealing, especially the promise of company and what would probably amount to a lot of delicious food. “Okay. But what would that mean for us, work-wise?”

At this he sits up straighter. “I told you before that I would do anything. I wasn’t lying. Once we’re done here, I’m going to walk right over to Snoke and announce my resignation as his Whip. I’m going to tell him that calling a vote while an MP is on bereavement leave is unethical, and I’m going to push for more free votes, and vote freely myself.”

It’s a lot, and yet not quite enough at the same time. “But you’ll still stay with the Conservatives?” she clarifies.

“I... haven’t gotten that far. I figured I would stay with them until my voting record made them kick me out.”

“But that’s…” She pauses. It’s not _ nothing _ ; if anything it’s almost too much for him to spring on the Prime Minster on what is already shaping up to be a very dramatic day. It’s just not exactly what she imagined, not _ all _ that she imagined, so somehow it still feels like a betrayal.

“There’s people who depend on me,” he explains. “My constituents, they voted for a certain set of party ideals.”

“No, they voted for you. Not Snoke, not the party.  _ You _ . That’s the way it works in this country.”

“That might be how it works, but that’s not how people think it works, and when it comes down to it, don’t we all pander a bit to that ignorance?” He stands up and walks around his desk, then tugs her small hand in his larger one. “I promise, there will be change. Things will be different, just... not all at once.”

“Such a conservative thing to say.” She looks up at his wide, mournful brown eyes and sighs. “I want to believe you.”

“You can,” he insists. “Please Rey, I don’t want to lose you. I can’t—“ His voice cracks and he looks down at her lap, where he’s squeezing her hand like a lifeline. “May I kiss you?”

“Fine.” She looks up and gives him a wry smile. “If you must.”

He tastes like stale coffee and the faintest hint of oranges. His hands are shaking when they settle on her waist, so lightly she can barely feel them. “I’m so,  _ so _ sorry,” he whispers against her lips. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear it.”

She’s heard it before, but her heart is still soft enough to accept the sentiment, as short-sighted as it may be. “What will you do if Snoke pushes back? What if he kicks you out of the party?”

“Then I guess the Green Party will have another representative in the House,” he jokes. 

She bumps her nose up against his. “Not funny.”

“I thought it was pretty–”

Lunging forward, she silences him with another kiss. Like almost every other time they’ve been together, she can’t stop the thoughts racing from her head as her body goes through the motions of pleasure. Hypothetically, if Ben votes freely on this issue, then the proposed bill should fail. At least, that is if he actually disagrees with the content of said bill, which she hasn’t actually confirmed with him. 

The complexities are thus, she muses as she angles her face against his to deepen the kiss: 

  1. Despite his previous promises, Ben seems unwilling to leave his racist, misogynist, trash heap of a party.
  2. Because of this, she has no way of knowing how he will vote, even if he does vote his conscience. 
  3. This begs the question: Does it really matter? How much of what Ben says and votes for is him toeing the party line, and how much does he actually _believe_ himself?

She worries the thought through her mind like a pebble between fingertips. Ben’s fingers are tugging insistently on her waistband, and the clock on the wall claims it’s been less than a half an hour since she entered his office. “Still plenty of time,” he grumbles against her temple when he notices where she’s looking. “Don’t worry about it. More than enough time for me to make you feel good.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” 

“That’s some big talk from a man who’s only managed to make me squirt once.”

“You said you’d never–” 

She laughs. “It’s a joke, Ben.”

She shouldn’t let him peel off her wrinkled dress pants, or tug down her serviceable panties, or tease her clit with his thumb as he presses too-soft kisses into her neck. She really shouldn’t, because all of this is absolutely insane and moving too fast, and  _ definitely  _ not what her constituents elected her for, but at the same time, isn’t it really? Because he’s going to try to be a bit less evil for her, which is ultimately for the greater good. 

Think of all of the refugee families who may be spared funding and amnesty when Snoke’s bill fails! Think of all of the whales that will be saved when all of the proposed pipelines are shelved. Admittedly, she’s trying not to think of any of those things now that Ben’s dropped to his knees in front of her and is trailing his tongue up her inner thigh, but still, it’s important. This isn’t just a fling. This isn’t an illicit, cross-party affair caused by heated looks and pent up energy. No, this is  _ strategy _ . 

She comes on his lips with a groan, her fingers tangled in his thick black hair, and when he looks up at her with hooded eyes, goofy grin plastered on his face, her heart skips a beat. 

Well shit.

* * *

_ <hey, did canady mention why he tabled the vote after our recess?> _

_ <was it about that interview I gave?> _

_ < Where I did my not-apology and spilled about Rose?> _

_ <i guess snoke wanted to keep his dirty dealings under wraps> _

_ <what a piece of shit lol> _

_ <sorry I didn’t catch you after. Poe and Kay wanted to go for drinks> _

_ <how did your talk with snoke go btw?> _

  
  
  
  


_ <Ben? Is everything okay?> _

  
  
  
  


_ <call me, pls> _

  
  
  
  


_ <ben? Did I do something wrong?> _

_ <please call. Im worried> _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me on Twitter @saint_heretical
> 
> Very quick pocket primer on Canadian politics:  
**riding, constituency**: Colloquial terms for an electoral district. Canada is split into 338 ridings.  
**MP**: Member of Parliament. Each riding is represented by a Member of Parliament.  
**Parliament**: The governmental body of Canada. Made up of the Senate (105 appointed Senators), the House of Commons (Members of Parliament), and the Monarch (currently QE2, represented in Canada by the Governor General).  
**Prime Minister**: The leader of the party with the most seats in the House of Commons. Unlike a President, the Prime Minister has NO independent power, and only has one vote in the house.
> 
> VERY quick overview of the major parties:  
**Conservatives**: Centre-right. Kind of Canada's Republicans??? But not as extreme. Pro- oil and gas, pro- tax breaks for rich people, anti- abortion and gay marriage in theory, even though both have been legal for a while.  
**Liberals**: Centre-left. Fairly moderate, attempt to balance industry with environmental concerns.  
**New Democratic Party (NDP)**: Left. Pro-social programs, social justice, unions, feminist, environmentalist. Also pro- tax and pro- regulation.  
**Green Party**: Way left. Like the NDP, only more so. Environment is the primary concern, along with reconciliation with Indigenous groups. 
> 
> Major party not mentioned in this fic:  
**Bloc Quebecois**: So their platform is based on Quebec separatism, yet we still invite them to all of the debates and consider them a legit party even though they don't run enough candidates to actually win the election??? I didn't include them because oh boy, that would make things too complicated. Also they were almost completely decimated in the 2011 election. Also fuck them.


End file.
